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A    QUIET    INLET    ON    THE    COAST    OF    SAMOA 


IN  THE 
TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 


THE  ACCOUNT  OF  A  FOURTEEN  THOUSAND 
MILE  YACHTING  CRUISE  TO  THE  HAWAIIS, 
MARQUESAS,  SOCIETIES,  SAMOAS  AND  FIJIS 


BY 

LEWIS  R.  FREEMAN 
n 

Author  of  "Many  Fronts,"  "Stories  of  the  Ships," 

"Sea-Hounds,"  "To  Kiel  in 

the 'Hercules.'" 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND.-COMPANY 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


VAIL-BALLOU    COMPANY 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OP 

'THE  COMMODORE" 

THE  LATE  H.  H.  SINCLAIR 


442294 


"THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES" 

Take  me  back,  take  me  back  to  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade! 

Let  me  wander  again  in  the  coco  palms'  shade, 
Where  the  drums  of  the  ocean,  in  pulsating  roar, 

Beat  time  for  the  waltz  of  the  waves  on  the  shore ; 
Where  sunlight  and  starlight  and  moonlight  conspire 

To  speed  the  gay  hours  on  the  Wings  of  Desire; 
Let  me  clamber  again  through  the  orchid-bright  glade — 

Take  me  back,  take  me  back  to  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade ! 

Oh,  the  hot  flame  of  sunset,  the  tremulous  light 

When  the  afterglow  fades  to  the  velvet  of  night ! 
The  star-stencilled  headland  in  blank  silhouette 

Where  the  moonbeams  are  meshed  in  the  flamboyant's  net ! 
Oh,  the  purple  of  midnight,  the  grey  mists  of  dawn, 

And  the  amber  flood  after  the  darkness  has  gone ! 
The  slow-heaving  ocean  of  gold-spangled  jade, 

When  the  sun  wakes  the  day  in  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade! 

Let  my  heart  thrill  again  as  the  tom-tom's  dull  boom 

Floats  out  from  the  bush  in  the  flower-fragrant  gloom, 
And  the  shriek  of  the  conches,  the  hi-mi-ne's  swell, 

Brings  word  of  the  feast  in  the  depths  of  the  dell. 
Lead  my  footsteps  again  to  that  forest  crypt  dim, 

Where  firelight  throws  shadows  on  bosom  and  limb 
Of  the  billowing  forms  of  the  trim  tropic  maids, 

When  the  song  wakes  the  dance  in  the  Tracks  of  the  Trades ! 

Let  my  hands  close  again  on  the  hard-kicking  wheel, 
As  the  schooner  romps  off  on  a  rollicking  reel, 

To  the  humming  of  back-stay  and  sharp-slatting  sail, 
And  the  hiss  of  the  comber  that  smothers  the  rail. 


THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Oh,  the  cadenced  lament  of  the  chorusing  shroud, 
As  the  spindrift  sweeps  aft  in  a  feathery  cloud ! 

Oh,  the  storm-tumbled  sea-ways  traversed  unafraid, 

As  the  squalls  spin  the  spume  down  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade ! 

Take  me  back,  take  me  back  to  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade! 

For  'tis  weary  I  am  of  the  city's  parade, 
Of  the  dust  of  the  traffic,  the  grey  cheerless  skies, 

And  the  long  lines  of  people  with  spiritless  eyes. 
Take  me  back  to  my  green  sunny  islands  again, 

Away  from  this  treadmill  of  sorrow  and  pain, 
Away  from  this  tinsel  and  gilt  masquerade — 

Let  me  live,  let  me  die  in  the  Tracks  of  the  Trade ! 

L.  R.  F. 

Pasadena, 
July,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  SAN  PEDRO  TO  HILO  AND  HONOLULU 1 

II  HONOLULU   TO   TAIO-HAIE 26 

III  THE    MARQUESAS    TODAY 52 

IV  HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS 72 

V  THE   PASSION   PLAY  AT   UAHUKA 99 

VI  TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE 110 

VII  CIRCLING    TAHITI 134 

VIII  SOCIETY  IN  THE  SOCIETIES 151 

IX  THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI 160 

X  BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE 182 

XI  PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO 195 

XII  IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY 212 

XIII  SAMOAN  CRICKET:     FAUGA-SA  v.  PAGO  PAGO      .      .  232 

XIV  A  VISIT  TO  APIA 246 

XV  KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA 262 

XVI  PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA 283 

XVII  IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU 296 

XVIII  "SHARKS" 320 

XIX  "His  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM" 334 

XX  SUVA    TO    HONOLULU 357 

XXI  HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO   .                        .                  .  368 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  quiet  inlet  on  the  coast  of  Samoa Frontispiece 


PAGE 


Lurline  in  drydock  before  sailing 8 

"The  Commodore  laboriously  squinted  out  his  first  sights"      .        9 

"Full-and-by" 9 

Waiohae  Beach,  Island  of  Hawaii 20 

Hula  dancer  with  Eukalele 21 

"All  of  the  images  were  covered  with  moss" 62 

"A  hardened  old  offender  who  preferred  white  man  to  native 

meat" 63 

The  best  surviving  example  of  Marquesan  tattooing   ...      68 
"Into  it  were  thrown  the  bones  of  the  victims  after  the  feast 

was  over" 69 

"The  part  of  Christ  is  taken  by  a  native  called  Lurau"      .      .102 

Marquesan  mother  and  child 103 

"Pontius  Pilate  has  been  played  for  twenty  years  by  an  old 

chief — a   quondam  cannibal" 108 

"Just  in  time  to  respond  to  his  'cue'  in  the  John  the  Baptist 

tableau 109 

"Hatiheu,  the  most  sublime  combination  of  mountain,  vale  and 

sea  that  my  eyes  have  ever  rested  on" 112 

A  Marquesan  fisherman  of  Hatiheu 113 

Native  woman  washing  on  the  beach,  Tahiti 158 

A  Mission  bathing  suit.     Before  the  bath — and  after    .      .      .159 
The  inevitable  end  of -every  South  Sea  trading  schooner      .      .    200 

A  Tahitian  couple  .      .      . 201 

"A  naval  station  at  Pago  Pago  has  placed  the  United  States, 
strategically,  in  the  strongest  position  in  western  Poly- 
nesia"   214 

Chief  Tufeli  in  the  uniform  of  a  sergeant  of  Fita-fitas     .      .215 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Faa-oo-pea,  chieftainess  of  Pago  Pago,  making  kava  .  .  .  222 
Seuka,  taupo  of  Pago  Pago,  illustrating  a  movement  in  the  Siva  223 

A  Samoan  house  in  the  course  of  construction 226 

"Chief  Tufeli  came  over  for  the  express  purpose  of  buying 

the  yacht" 227 

"Chief  Mauga  squared  away  to  face  the  bowling  of  Chief  Ma- 

latoba" 236 

To-a,  who  made  the  best  score  for  Pago  Pago,  facing  the  bowler  237 
"Whirling  and  yelling  like  dervishes  they  made  a  circuit  of  the 

ground" 244 

"A  sinewy  brown  figure  starts  clambering  up  the  tree"  .  .  24-5 

Lurline  at  anchor  in  Bay  of  Apia,  Samoa 250 

"The  London  Missionary  Society  steamer,  John  Williams,  lay 

near  us" 251 

Maid  of  honour  to  the  Taupo  of  Apia  .......  258 

A  Samoan  sunset 259 

The  sitting  Sivas  are  essentially  dances  of  the  arms  .  .  .274 

"Never  were  seen  such  arms  as  in  Samoa" 275 

Fanua,  who  danced  the  swimming  Siva  by  the  light  of  the  phos- 
phorescent waves 280 

Dancer  with  head  knife .  281 

Forty  years  ago  the  Fijis  were  in  a  complete  state  of  savagery  298 

A  Fijian  head  hunting  canoe 299 

"Lurline's  cutter  finished  a  poor  second" 304 

"Thakambau's  great  war  canoe,  over  a  hundred  feet  in  length, 

formerly  launched  over  human  bodies" 305 

Shark  on  the  beach  at  Mbau 324 

Fijian  boys  boxing 325 

Weaving  the  walls  of  a  Fijian  house 342 

Interior  of  a  Fijian  house,  showing  how  it  is  bound  together 

with  coco  fibre 343 

A  Fijian  warrior 362 

Reefing  the  mainsail 363 

Untying  a  reef  in  the  mainsail 363 


IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 


IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

CHAPTER  I 

SAN   PEDRO  TO   HILO   AND   HONOLULU 

THE  Weather  Bureau,  which  for  'several  weeks  had 
been  issuing  bulletins  of  the  "Possibly  Showers"  order, 
came  out  unequivocally  with  "Rain"  on  the  morning 
of  February  4th,  and  this,  no  less  than  the  lead-coloured 
curtain  that  veiled  the  Sierra  Madres  and  the  windy 
shimmers  in  the  tails  of  the  clouds  that  went  rushing 
across  the  zenith  before  the  gushing  east  wind,  made 
it  plain  that  the  elements,  not  to  be  outdone  by  our 
amiable  friends,  were  getting  together  for  a  special 
demonstration  on  their  own  account  in  honour  of  Lur- 
line's  departure.  The  nature  of  this  elemental  diver- 
sion developed  in  good  time. 

Personal  good-byes  began  at  the  Pasadena  station  and 
continued  down  through  Los  Angeles  to  the  San  Pedro 
quay.  From  there,  out  through  the  inner  harbour,  bon 
voyages  became  general,  and  from  the  engineer  of  the 
government  dredge,  who  blew  his  whistle  off  with  the 
force  of  his  farewell  toots,  to  the  deck  hand  on  a  collier 
who,  in  lieu  of  a  handkerchief,  waved  the  shirt  he  was 
washing,  everybody  took  a  hand  in  the  parting  demon- 
stration. 

Rounding  the  jetty  opposite  Deadman's  Island,  Lur- 
line  was  sighted  lying  a  half  mile  to  the  westward  in 


£*;.  ;iisr  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 


the  backsweep  of  the  outer  bay.  The  crew  stood  at 
attention  as  the  Commodore,  with  a  score  or  more  of 
friends  who  had  come  off  for  a  final  farewell,  stepped 
aboard,  immediately  to  turn  to  stowing  the  small  moun- 
tain of  hand  luggage  which  had  come  off  with  the 
launch.  Soon  visitors  began  arriving  from  the  other 
yachts  of  the  South  Coast  fleet,  and  these,  reinforced 
by  several  press  representatives  and  a  number  of  shore 
visitors  from  San  Pedro,  swelled  the  farewell  party  to 
a  size  that  taxed  the  standing  room  capacity  of  quarter 
deck  and  cabin  to  the  utmost. 

Just  before  the  sailing  hour  arrived  presentation  was 
made  to  the  Commodore  of  a  large  silver  loving  cup, 
and  this  being  filled,  each  visitor,  ere  he  stepped  down 
the  gangway,  proposed  some  appropriate  toast  and 
drank  to  a  prosperous  voyage  and  safe  return. 

Meanwhile  the  sail  covers  had  been  removed  and  the 
stops  cast  off,  and  as  the  last  of  the  visitors  stepped 
back  aboard  their  waiting  launches,  all  hands  tailed  on 
to  the  main  throat  and  peak  halyards  and  the  big  sail 
was  smartly  hoisted  and  swayed  to  place.  Foresail, 
forestay-sail  and  jib  followed.  Finally  the  anchor, 
clinging  tenaciously  to  the  last  California  mud  it  was 
destined  to  hook  its  flukes  into  for  many  months,  was 
broken  out,  and,  close-hauled  on  the  starboard  tack  to 
a  light  breeze,  Lurline  swung  off  past  the  breakwater 
and  out  of  the  harbour. 

At  four  o'clock  Point  Firmin  Light,  distant  five 
miles,  bore  N.W.  by  W.,  and  at  the  same  hour  the 
barometer,  which  had  risen  rapidly  since  noon,  regis- 
tered 30.40,  about  the  normal  for  the  southern  Cali- 
fornia coast.  The  gentle  southerly  breeze  cleared  the 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  3 

western  sky  toward  evening  and  a  warm  hued  sunset 
blazed  out  in  defiance  of  the  threatening  signs  of  the 
morning.  The  yacht  slipped  easily  through  the  light 
swell  of  the  channel,  her  regular  curtesies  serving  only 
to  spangle  her  glossy  sides  with  sparkling  drops  of  brine 
and  to  punctuate  her  wake  at  even  intervals  with  swell- 
ing knots  of  foam  like  the  marks  on  a  trailed  sounding 
line. 

"Fairweather  sunset,"  said  the  mate;  "but — "  and 
he  finished  by  shaking  his  head  dubiously  and  proceed- 
ing to  give  orders  for  swinging  the  boats  inboard  and 
adding  extra  lashings  to  the  spare  spars  and  water- 
butts  on  the  forward  deck. 

Early  in  the  first  watch,  and  not  long  after  the  thin 
wisp  of  a  new  moon  had  slipped  down  behind  the  jagged 
peaks  of  Catalina,  the  wind  hauled  suddenly  to  the 
southeast.  Blowing  with  steadily  increasing  force,  it 
drove  a  heavy  pall  of  sooty  clouds  before  it.  This, 
quickly  spreading  out  across  the  sky,  rendered  the  night 
so  dark  that,  beyond  the  ghostly  reflections  from  the 
binnacle  lamps,  nothing  was  visible  save  the  phosphores- 
cent crests  of  the  rapidly  rising  seas.  With  this  slant  of 
wind  the  best  that  we  could  do  on  the  starboard  tack 
was  dead  east,  and  this  direction  was  held  until  the  im- 
minent loom  of  Point  San  Juan,  and  a  not-overly-dis- 
tant roar  of  breakers,  warned  us  to  put  about  and  head 
off  southwesterly  between  San  Clemente  and  Catalina. 

At  midnight  the  barometer  was  well  below  30,  and  the 
wind  and  sea  were  still  rising.  The  mainsail  and  fore- 
sail were  single  reefed  when  the  watch  came  on  deck, 
and  while  sail  was  being  shortened  a  heavy  sea  came 
aboard  just  forward  of  the  beam  and  crashed  through 


4   IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  galley  skylight.  The  water  rushed  in  with  the  roar 
of  a  miniature  Niagara,  but  beyond  washing  the  Japa- 
nese cook  off  the  transom  on  which  he  had  composed 
himself  for  sleep  and  bouncing  him  against  the  stove, 
no  serious  harm  was  done. 

At  two  in  the  morning,  with  no  abatement  of  force, 
the  wind  went  back  to  S.S.W.,  and  with  Clemente  ris- 
ing darkly  ahead  the  yacht  was  again  put  about.  The 
barometer  was  down  to  29.80,  and  the  half-gale  that 
met  us  as  we  came  out  from  under  the  lee  of  the  island 
quickly  made  it  evident  that  further  shortening  of  sail 
was  imperative.  The  watch  was  called,  and  with  no 
little  difficulty  two  more  reefs  were  tied  in  the  mainsail, 
bringing  it  down  almost  to  the  proportions  of  a  storm 
trysail.  The  foreboom  was  being  hauled  amidships  pre- 
paratory to  close-reefing  the  foresail,  when  a  solid  wall 
of  green  water  came  combing  over  the  port  bow  and 
swept  the  deck  like  an  avalanche.  One  of  the  sailors — 
Gus,  a  big  Swede — who  had  been  bracing  a  foot  against 
the  lee  rail,  lost  his  balance  in  the  sudden  lurch  and,  miss- 
ing a  frantic  clutch  at  a  shroud,  went  over  the  side.  A 
rush  was  made  for  the  life-buoys,  but,  before  one  could 
be  thrown  over,  the  lost  man  reappeared,  coolly  drawing 
himself  in,  hand  over  hand,  on  the  foresheet,  a  bight  of 
which  he  had  carried  with  him  in  his  fall. 

feMein  Gott,  der  rain  he  stop  not  yet,  hem!"  was  his 
only  comment  as  he  returned  to  the  interrupted  attack 
on  the  flopping  foreboom.  One  would  have  thought 
that  he  had  been  gone  ten  hours  instead  of  ten  seconds. 

After  subduing  and  triple-reefing  the  threshing  fore- 
sail the  watch  went  below,  but  only  to  be  called  again 
almost  immediately  to  take  the  bonnet  out  of  the  stay- 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  5 

sail,  a  measure  made  necessary  by  the  fierce  southwest- 
erly squalls  which  kept  winding  into  the  now  fully  de- 
veloped "sou'easter."  Finally,  as  the  storm  showed  no 
signs  of  abating,  the  forestay-sail  was  hauled  to  wind- 
ward and,  head-reaching,  the  yacht  made  good  weather 
of  the  last  hours  of  the  night. 

Day  broke,  cold  and  cloudy,  and  showed  the  bare, 
brown,  rounded  hills  of  Clemente  ten  miles  distant  on 
the  starboard  quarter.  Towering,  weighty  seas,  un- 
broken now  by  the  islands,  came  charging  up  out  of  the 
southwest  in  billowing  ranks,  but  so  buoyant  was  the 
schooner  under  her  shortened  sail  that  the  grey  light  of 
the  morning  showed  the  brine  of  the  last  wave  that  had 
swept  her  decks  before  she  was  put  to  head-reaching 
spangled  in  frost-like  repousee  along  the  lee  scuppers. 
Toward  midday  the  wind  shifted  suddenly  to  northwest, 
and  though  still  blowing  a  gale  it  was  deemed  best  to 
risk  a  little  more  sail  in  an  endeavour  to  get  away  from 
the  islands  before  night  closed  down  again.  Accord- 
ingly, the  reefs  were  shaken  out  of  foresail  and  fore- 
stay-sail,  and  under  these  and  a  close-reefed  mainsail 
twenty-four  miles  were  run  off  in  the  afternoon  watch. 
At  four  o'clock,  when  the  barometer  touched  its  mini- 
mum of  29.60,  a  nasty  swell  from  the  northeast,  due  to 
another  shifting  of  the  wind,  began  to  make  itself  felt, 
and,  though  nothing  carried  away,  the  vicious  twist  of 
the  cross  surges  made  so  bad  a  seaway  that  we  were 
forced  to  reef  down  again  and  ride  out  the  night  head- 
reaching  in  a  southwesterly  direction. 

By  morning  of  the  6th  the  gale  had  blown  itself  out, 
and  at  the  change  of  watch  all  the  reefs  were  untied  and 
the  yacht  appeared  under  all  plain  lower  sail  for  the 


6   IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

first  time  since  the  evening  of  departure.  Toward  noon 
the  clouds  began  to  break  up  and  let  filter  through 
streaks  of  pale  sunlight  to  dapple  the  olive-green  hol- 
lows of  the  sea  with  vagrant  patches  of  golden  yellow. 
The  chill  of  the  air  gradually  melted  away  as  the  day 
advanced,  and  the  opportunity  to  open  skylights  and 
portholes  was  warmly  welcomed  by  the  Mater  and  Clari- 
bel  who  had  been  kept  to  the  cabin  for  nearly  two  days. 
A  couple  of  the  light  sails  were  set  at  noon  and  carried 
until  a  heavy  squall,  working  around  from  the  north- 
west just  before  dark,  was  responsible  for  sending  them 
down  by  the  run.  The  runs  to  noon  of  the  5th  and  6th, 
respectively,  were  sixty-three  and  ninety  miles,  in  a 
course  that  approximated  W.S.W. 

Fair  weather  and  light  breezes  were  taken  advantage 
of  on  the  morning  of  the  7th  to  install  a  much-needed 
safety  device  in  the  form  of  a  wire  rail  run  all  the  way 
round  the  yacht  at  a  height  of  eighteen  inches  above  the 
main  rail,  a  precaution  the  imperative  necessity  of  which 
had  been  shown  when  one  of  the  sailors  had  been  thrown 
overboard  during  the  storm.  The  yacht's  rail,  only  two 
feet  in  height,  while  of  some  protection  at  the  bows  and 
stern,  was  almost  useless  amidships,  where  the  deck- 
house, separated  from  it  by  only  a  narrow  passage,  rose 
to  an  equal  height.  Three-quarter  inch  steel  stanchions 
were  set  at  intervals  of  eight  feet  along  the  rail,  and 
through  these  a  quarter-inch  wire  cable  was  run.  The 
stanchions  were  fastened  by  a  bolt  on  the  under  side  of 
the  rail  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  easily  removed,  thus 
permitting  the  whole  affair  to  be  expeditiously  taken 
down  and  stowed  while  in  port.  This  simple  and  inex- 
pensive precaution  proved  of  incalculable  value  in  in- 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  7 

suring  the  safety  of  the  decks  on  stormy  nights,  a  use- 
fulness which  was  put  to  the  test  many  times  in  the 
course  of  the  months  that  followed. 

Clearing  skies  and  a  smoothing  sea  on  the  third  day 
out  brought  the  Mater  and  Claribel — two  pathetic  bun- 
dles of  rugs — up  on  deck,  where  the  sun  and  fresh  air 
began  the  slow  task  of  reviving  in  them  an  interest  in 
life.  All  day  they  drooped  in  hollow-eyed  wretched- 
ness with  their  white  faces  turned  toward  the  paradise 
of  a  terra  firma  beyond  the  eastern  horizon  which  every 
moment  was  receding  farther  away.  Through  all  of 
the  bright  noontide  and  the  sparkling  afternoon  they 
kept  their  ceaseless  vigil,  and  even  when  twilight  came, 
with  a  freshening  wind  and  heavier  seas,  they  still  re- 
fused to  go  below.  Day  and  night  were  all  the  same 
to  them  now,  they  said.  An  hour  later  a  black-visaged 
squall  came  boring  down  out  of  the  night  ahead,  and 
the  raindrops  and  the  driving  spray  began  to  drum  a 
duet  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  rising  blasts  of  the 
wind. 

"You'll  be  shivering  with  cold  before  long  if  you  stay 
here,"  admonished  the  Commodore  gently;  "best  get  up 
and  go  below  now." 

"There  is  no  heat  or  cold  any  more,"  one  muttered 
listlessly,  and  they  both  drew  their  rugs  closer  and  curled 
the  tighter  into  the  curve  of  the  transoms. 

A  high-headed  maverick  of  a  comber  came  crashing 
over  the  weather  rail  and  swept  the  muffled  figures  into 
a  vortex  of  spinning  foam  where  a  ton  of  green  water 
washed  about  the  cockpit.  We  sprang  to  help  them, 
but  they  only  shuddered  resignedly  back  into  the  wash 
of  the  clearing  scuppers  and  disdained  to  move. 


8   IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

"You're  both  soaking  wet,"  protested  the  Commo- 
dore; "please  go  below  now  and  get  into  some  dry 
clothes." 

"There  is  no  wet  nor  dry  any  more,"  bubbled  the 
starboard  bundle;  "let  us  alone." 

"A  wave  like  that  last  one  has  been  known  to  kill  a 
strong  man,"  ventured  the  Commodore  weakly,  at  his 
wit's  end  for  an  argument  that  would  have  some  effect. 
"Here's  another  coming  now.  Please — " 

"There  is  no  life  nor  death  any  more,"  broke  in  a 
sputter  from  the  port  bundle ;  "and  even  if  there  was  we 
wouldn't—" 

We  picked  up  the  two  dripping  bundles  and  bore 
them  gently  below  just  as  a  second  comber,  running 
wildly  amuck,  banged  its  head  off  against  the  rail  and 
turned  the  cockpit  into  another  maelstrom. 

Save  for  shortening  periods  of  introspective  languor 
induced  by  whiffs  from  the  galley  or  the  clink  of  dishes, 
matters  were  better  the  next  day,  and  the  day  following 
the  sufferers  were  sufficiently  revived  to  begin  unpack- 
ing and — as  they  called  it — "putting  things  trig  and 
shipshape  below."  After  that  things  began  falling  into 
the  even  routine  which,  save  for  its  occasional  disturb- 
ance in  stormy  weather,  characterized  our  life  at  sea 
to  the  end  of  the  voyage.  But  there  never  came  a  time 
when,  for  the  Mater  and  Claribel,  the  first  three  or  four 
days  out  of  port  did  not  hold  the  menace  of  that  chaotic 
state  in  which  there  was  no  night  or  day,  heat  or  cold, 
wetness  or  dryness,  and  in  which  if  there  was  to  have 
been  a  choosing  between  life  and  death  the  latter  would 
have  been  the  less  bitter  portion.  A  Pacific  yachting 
cruise  is  not  all  an  idyllic  pleasaunce  to  the  mal-de-mer 


\ 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  9 

subject,  for  the  ocean  which  has  not  been  pacific  for 
many  hours  at  a  time  since  the  day  it  was  discovered 
and  christened  does  not  temper  its  moods  for  the  small 
craft. 

In  spite  of  restricted  quarters,  the  days  which  fol- 
lowed seemed  never  long  enough  to  do  all  we  laid  out 
for  them.  The  Commodore  was  the  busiest  of  us.  To 
him  it  became  evident  before  we  were  fairly  out  of  sight 
of  land  that  his  pleasure  cruise  was  going  to  have  to  be 
enjoyed  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  lot  of  hard  work, 
for  Lurline's  former  sailing  master — whom  he  had 
shipped  as  mate  and  whom  he  subsequently  let  go  in 
Honolulu — was  absolutely  incompetent  as  a  navigator 
and  only  fairly  so  in  the  actual  sailing  of  the  yacht. 
This  came  as  a  very  disconcerting  surprise,  for  the  man 
had  been  well  recommended,  and  his  incompetence  meant 
that  all  of  the  work — to  say  nothing  of  the  responsi- 
bility— of  navigating  the  yacht  through  some  of  the 
stormiest  and  worst  charted  latitudes  of  the  Seven  Seas 
was  to  be  thrown  on  the  Commodore,  whose  deep-sea 
sailoring  had  been  confined  to  a  voyage  around  the 
Horn  on  a  clipper  when  he  was  in  his  teens. 

I  have  still  a  vivid  mind  picture  of  the  Commodore 
when,  after  he  had  laboriously  squinted  out  his  first 
sights  and  was  ready  to  try  to  figure  the  position  of 
the  yacht,  he  disappeared  into  his  cabin  behind  an  arm- 
ful of  tables  and  books  on  navigation  and  slammed  and 
locked  the  door.  The  iterated  luncheon  call  elicited  only 
a  grunt  of  impatience  from  the  depths  of  the  sanctum, 
and  likewise  the  summons  to  tea  and  dinner.  The  Ma- 
ter's timid  knocking  at  bedtime  brought  no  answer  at 
all,  and  we  were  gathered  in  perplexed  colloquy  on 


10     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

deck  as  to  what  the  next  move  would  be,  when  a  boom- 
ing "Got  it!"  thundered  out  from  the  locked  cabin,  and 
a  moment  later  the  door  was  burst  open  by  a  pa  jama- 
clad  figure,  waving  a  slip  of  paper  above  its  towel-bound 
head. 

"Observation  checks  Dead-reckoning  at  last,"  cried 
the  Commodore.     "Give  me  some  dinner." 

Between  mouthfuls  he  explained  to  us  that  the  first 
time  he  worked  out  the  sights  they  showed  the  yacht 
to  be  somewhere  in  Tibet.  All  the  rest  of  the  morn- 
ing she  kept  turning  up  in  various  parts  of  Asia,  Africa, 
Australia  and  Europe,  the  only  time  she  was  in  the 
water  being  after  a  reckoning  which  gave  the  latitude 
and  longitude  of  Victoria  Nyanza.  Shortly  after  noon 
the  figuring  in  of  some  allowances  hitherto  neglected 
jumped  the  elusive  craft  into  the  Western  Hemisphere, 
but  as  near  as  might  be  to  a  perch  on  the  summit  of 
Aconcagua.  Tea  time  had  her  in  the  Klondike,  and 
several  other  Canadian  points  were  visited  before  Ne- 
braska was  reached  at  the  call  for  dinner.  An  hour 
later  she  was  actually  in  the  Pacific,  but  floundering 
helplessly  off  the  coast  of  Peru,  from  where  she  worked 
north  in  an  encouraging  fashion  until  a  sudden  jump 
landed  her  in  the  Colorado  desert.  She  was  perilously 
near  being  stranded  on  Catalina  at  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond dog-watch,  and  it  was  the  reckoning  after  this  one- 
magnetic  variation  and  a  few  other  essentials  being 
finally  included — that  checked  with  the  Dead-reckoning 
and  put  the  poor  wanderer  where  she  belonged.  Day 
by  day,  navigation  became  simpler  work  after  that  ti- 
tanic struggle,  until,  the  morning  we  sighted  the  island 
of  Hawaii,  I  saw  the  Commodore  take  and  work  out  in 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  11 

ten  minutes  an  observation  which  told  him  in  which 
direction  the  harbour  of  Hilo  was  located. 

Besides  navigating  and  directing  the  sailing  of  the 
yacht,  the  Commodore  always  stood  one  of  the  night 
watches  and  at  other  times  held  himself  ready  to  appear 
on  deck  at  any  emergency.  It  was  a  stiff  undertaking, 
having  suddenly  to  face  the  prospect  of  eight  or  ten 
months  of  day  and  night  work  on  a  small  schooner  in 
the  treacherous  South  Pacific;  but  the  Commodore 
buckled  down  to  it  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  youngster 
and  carried  it  through  with  flying  colours,  as  will  be 
seen. 

My  own  work  was  confined  to  the  nominal  duties  of 
Volunteer  Weather  Observer  for  the  U.  S.  Hydro- 
graphic  Office, — a  branch  of  the  Bureau  of  Equip- 
ment of  the  Navy — occasional  tricks  at  the  wheel,  and 
falling  into  line  now  and  then  at  the  tail  of  a  sheet  or 
halyard  when  "all  hands  and  the  cook"  failed  to  muster 
sufficient  power  amongst  them.  As  Weather  Observer 
I  became  for  eight  months  a  small  cog  in  the  very  com- 
prehensive system  by  which  the  Hydrographic  Office  is 
gathering  data  on  currents,  winds,  clouds,  waves,  storms, 
temperatures,  etc.,  from  all  of  the  sailed-in  sea-ways  of 
the  world  to  assist  in  perfecting  its  monthly  weather 
charts  on  which — as  the  result  of  the  accumulated  obser- 
vations of  many  years — the  probable  meteorological  con- 
ditions likely  to  prevail  at  any  given  point  are  recorded. 
Twice  a  day  I  took  the  temperature  of  the  air  and  water, 
recorded  the  direction  and  force  of  the  wind — the  latter 
on  a  scale  of  1  to  10,  from  a  calm  to  a  full  gale — the 
set  and  height  of  the  seas,  and  on  a  circular  chart  of 
the  heavens  indicated  which  of  the  various  kinds  of 


12     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

clouds — nimbus,  cirrus,  cumulus,  etc. — prevailed  at  the 
time  in  each  of  the  twelve  divisions  into  which  it  was 
divided.  The  difference  between  the  position  of  the 
yacht  by  Dead-reckoning — that  is,  figured  by  the  log 
and  compass — and  the  position  by  Observation  gave 
the  direction  and  speed  of  the  ocean  current  at  that 
point.  These  data  were  set  down  in  a  little  booklet,  con- 
taining a  page  for  each  day  of  the  month,  which,  when 
filled,  was  mailed  to  the  San  Francisco  branch  of  the 
Hydrographic  Office.  (The  monthly  weather  charts 
for  the  Pacific,  with  which  we  had  been  supplied  through 
the  courtesy  of  this  office,  proved  most  valuable  for  those 
latitudes  which  were  crossed  by  regular  trade  routes, 
and  in  which,  as  a  consequence,  comprehensive  observa- 
tions extending  over  some  years  had  been  taken;  but 
in  the  little-sailed  latitudes  of  the  South  Pacific — many 
stretches  of  which  are  still  unploughed  by  a  keel  for 
years  at  a  time — they  were,  naturally,  fragmentary  and 
of  little  practical  use.) 

We  often  have  been  asked  if  time  did  not  hang  very 
heavily  on  our  hands  in  the  long,  unbroken  fifteen, 
twenty  and  even  thirty  day  intervals  between  ports. 
Perhaps  this  will  be  as  good  a  place  as  any  to  answer 
that  question.  For  the  Commodore  and  myself  I  will 
register  an  emphatic  "No,"  while  a  partial  list  of  the 
activities  of  the  ladies,  will,  I  think,  answer  for  the  bal- 
ance of  the  passengers. 

In  comparison  with  Claribel,  once  those  dreadful 
spells  of  post-departure  indisposition  had  trailed  away 
into  bad  memories,  every  one  on  the  yacht — not  except- 
ing the  cook  and  the  Commodore — was  a  drone  and  a 
loafer.  Her  quenchless  energy  found  expression  in 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  13 

musical,  linguistic,  literary,  culinary  and  manual  activi- 
ties throughout  the  voyage.  A  guitar  and  a  banjo  held 
the  boards  to  Hawaii,  where  a  eukelele  was  annexed  and 
mastered,  after  which,  group  by  group  and  island  by 
island,  every  form  of  native  musical  instrument  from 
hollow-tree  tom-toms  and  war  conches  to  coco  shell  rat- 
tles and  shark's  hide  tambourines  was  taken  up  in  turn 
and  blown,  beaten,  shaken  or  twanged  into  yielding  its 
full  capacity  of  soul-stirring  harmony.  Most  of  these 
instruments  she  even  rebuilt  or  imitated  with  good  suc- 
cess. Vocally  (Claribel  has  a  really  fine  voice)  simple 
ballads  of  the  "tenderness-and-pathos,  pull-at-the-heart- 
strings"  type  were  favoured  until  our  arrival  at  Hilo, 
where  "Aloha-oe"  and  various  swinging  hulas  had  their 
turn;  these  giving  way  to  plaintive  Marquesan  sonatas, 
rollicking  Tahitian  himines,  lilting  Samoan  serenades 
and  booming  Fijian  war-chants,  as,  one  after  another, 
these  various  isles  of  enchantment  were  put  behind  us. 
Her  terpsichorean  achievements  were  equally  varied  and 
multitudinous,  for  there  were  few  poses  in  the  primer 
postures  of  the  hula-hula  and  the  siva-siva  that  she  did 
not  imitate  and  embroider  upon  in  a  manner  to  awaken 
the  envy  of  the  nimble  Fof-iti,  the  premiere  danseuse  of 
the  court  of  King  Pomare,  or  even  of  the  sinuous  Seuka, 
the  peerless  taupo  who  led  the  dance  in  the  thatch  pal- 
ace of  Chief  Mauga  at  Pago-Pago. 

When  I  mention  that  in  addition  to  these  things  the 
indefatigable  Claribel  also  set  up  a  "native  crafts"  shop 
in  the  starboard  lifeboat,  where  she  produced  wooden 
gods,  shark-tooth  necklaces,  tortoise-shell  combs  (gen- 
uine shell),  war  clubs  and  axes,  carved  coco  shells, 
tappa  cloth  and  similar  "tourist"  curios  of  a  character 


14     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

to  defy  detection  (by  us)  and  at  a  cost  (figuring  her 
time  as  worth  nothing)  effectively  to  defy  native  com- 
petition; that  she  read  Goethe  and  Heine  (complete) 
in  German,  and  all  of  the  200  or  more  volumes  in  the 
yacht's  library,  including  several  works  on  navigation, 
ship-building  and  astronomy,  as  well;  that  she  made 
herself  a  dozen  or  more  tropical  dresses  (not  native,  but 
full-sized  garments)  ;  that  she  mastered  the  technique 
of  my  typewriter  and  wrote  a  voluminous  journal  upon 
it,  manifolding  some  scores  of  copies  to  send  to  friends 
at  home;  that  she  played  the  gramophone  for  us  when- 
ever the  yacht  was  steady  enough  to  allow  that  sensitive 
instrument  to  keep  an  even  keel; — when  I  mention  all 
of  these  various  spheres  of  activity  in  which  Claribel 
circulated,  and  then  admit  that  I  have  still  left  the  list 
incomplete  for  want  of  space,  it  will  readily  be  seen 
that  time  had  little  chance  to  hang  heavily  on  her  nimble 
hands  and  that  she  had  scant  opportunity  to  learn  the 
meaning  of  that  hackneyed  term,  "the  monotony  of  the 
voyage." 

The  Mater,  when  she  was  not  being  whirled  in  the 
back-wash  of  the  comet-like  wake  of  Claribel's  mul- 
tudinous  activities,  spent  her  time  in  quiet  dignity  with 
knitting  or  embroidery,  reading  and  solitaire;  but  when 
the  demon  of  ennui  threatened  to  raise  its  Gorgon  head 
in  the  form  of  an  interval  of  idleness,  the  both  of  them 
would  turn  to  and  write  "items  of  interest"  for  the 
"Ladies'  Log,"  a  diurnal  record  of  feminine  impressions 
de  voyage  which  spared  no  one  in  the  cabin,  galley  or 
fo'c'sl' — not  even  the  editors  themselves — in  its  trench- 
ant columns  of  comment.  I  shall  have  occasion,  doubt- 
less, not  infrequently  to  quote  from  its  scintillant  pages. 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  15 

On  the  run  from  San  Pedro  to  Hawaii  our  course 
was  at  first  directed  somewhat  more  southerly  than  the 
straight  one  to  Hilo  in  the  hope  of  the  sooner  inter- 
cepting the  Northeast  Trades,  which,  according  to  the 
government  weather  charts,  should  ordinarily  be  met 
with  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  27th  parallel. 
During  the  morning  watch  of  the  8th  our  expectations 
appeared  to  be  realized.  Just  as  the  rising  sun  broke 
through  a  shoal  of  silver  clouds  a  crackling  breeze  from 
the  E.N.E.  came  humming  over  the  taffrail,  and,  heel- 
ing the  yacht  over  until  the  hissing  brine  curled  off  by 
her  forefoot  kissed  the  starboard  rail,  sent  her  spinning 
through  the  water  at  a  good  ten-knot  gait. 

"Northeast  Trades!"  chuckled  the  starboard  watch 
to  the  port  watch  as  the  latter  came  on  deck;  "North- 
east Trades — cheer  up,  the  Hilo  girls  have  got  the  tow- 
line!" 

"Northeast  Trades — now  for  a  big  day's  run!"  bel- 
lowed the  mate  to  the  Commodore,  as  he  ordered  the 
kites  run  up  and  the  backstays  set  and  tautened;  and 
"Northeast  Trades!"  mused  the  cook  to  the  bacon;  and 
"Northeast  Trades"  chirped  the  ladies  to  their  mirrors; 
and  "Northeast  Trades"  hummed  the  sails  to  the  sheets 
and  the  halyards  to  the  shrouds.  The  air  was  vibrant 
with  the  good  news,  the  sea  was  a-dance  because  of  it, 
and  the  sun,  when  he  awoke  to  a  full  realization  of  the 
import  of  what  was  on,  broke  into  a  smile  so  expansive 
and  warm  that  the  hovering  mists  of  the  morning  took 
up  their  tents  and  hurried  away. 

This  felicitous  state  of  affairs  lasted  until  eight  o'clock, 
when  the  wind  veered  around  through  east  and  south, 
finally  to  settle  itself  comfortably  so  near  S.S.W.  that 


16     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

it  kept  the  headsails  flapping  and  the  mainsails  a-shiver 
at  the  mast  to  hold  the  yacht's  head  up  to  W.S.W.,  a 
good  two  points  north  of  a  course  which,  normally,  we 
should  have  sailed  "wing-and-wing."  And  that  was 
the  last  we  saw  of  the  much-vaunted  Northeast  Trades 
until,  five  months  afterwards  on  the  run  back  to  Hawaii 
from  Fiji,  they  met  us  at  the  equator  and  headed  us  all 
the  way  to  Honolulu. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  run  the  breeze,  except  in 
occasional  squalls,  blew  steadily  and  with  moderate  force 
from  all  points  between  southeast  and  southwest.  Sev- 
eral times,  for  a  few  hours  at  a  stretch,  it  hauled  around 
as  far  as  W.S.W.,  and  even  west,  on  which  occasions 
the  booms  were  jibed  to  port  and  a  few  miles  of  the 
much-needed  southing  run  off.  A  half  dozen  times  we 
ran  free  for  an  hour  or  two  when  a  favourable  slant  of 
wind  offered,  but  oftener  it  was  "full-and-by,"  or  "by- 
the-wind,"  with  the  booms  almost  amidships  in  an  en- 
deavour to  steal  the  last  fraction  of  a  point  from  the 
obstinate  turncoat  of  a  wind.  Most  of  the  time  the 
yacht  was  too  close  to  the  wind  to  admit  of  the  advan- 
tageous use  of  the  main  topmast  staysail,  but  either  our 
large  or  small  sail  of  that  class,  as  well  as  the  club  and 
jib  topsails,  were  used  whenever  opportunity  offered. 

Runs  of  close  to  190  miles  were  made  on  the  9th, 
13th  and  14th,  and  on  the  19th  the  best  run  of  the  pas- 
sage, 198  miles,  was  logged.  On  the  16th  and  21st  fre- 
quent squalls  and  light  baffling  airs  were  responsible 
for  the  shortest  runs,  fifty-seven  and  seventy-seven  miles 
respectively.  The  average  for  the  other  days  was  in 
the  vicinity  of  130  miles.  The  general  direction  of  the 
currents  encountered  was  unfavourable,  the  prevailing 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  17 

one,  which  had  a  northeasterly  set  of  about  ten  miles  a 
day,  having  apparently  hooked  up  with  the  contrary 
winds  to  cut  down  our  southing  and  westing.  Long 
before  entering  the  torrid  zone,  which  was  done  on  the 
night  of  the  19th,  the  weather  in  its  fitful  uncertainty 
as  well  as  in  its  mildness,  savoured  strongly  of  the  trop- 
ics. There  was  no  fog  nor  even  the  shortest  periods 
in  which  the  sky  was  completely  overcast.  There  was 
only  one  occasion  when  the  zenith  was  sufficiently  ob- 
scured to  make  a  latitude  sight  impossible  at  noonday, 
and  no  day  whose  morning  was  too  cloudy  for  a  longi- 
tude observation  but  which  made  amends  with  a  clear 
afternoon. 

No  heavy  seas  were  encountered  after  the  storm  of 
the  first  two  days  had  been  left  astern.  This  was  prin- 
cipally due  to  the  fact  that  the  constantly  shifting  wind 
never  blew  up  a  sea  from  one  direction  before  it  veered 
off  to  another  and  beat  it  down  again.  The  resulting 
succession  of  cross  swells  was  annoying,  but  never  heavy 
enough  really  to  be  troublesome.  The  temperature  of 
the  water  increased  slowly  but  with  almost  absolute 
regularity  as  we  approached  the  lower  latitudes,  while 
that  of  the  air,  though  likewise  increasing,  was  more 
variable,  tending  to  jump  up  and  down  incessantly  in 
the  intervals  of  sunshine  and  squalls. 

On  the  morning  of  the  15th  a  striking  and  unusual 
arrangement  of  clouds  on  the  western  horizon  was  re- 
sponsible for  no  small  excitement.  A  dull,  dark  line  of 
stratus,  hanging  low  above  the  water,  was  topped  by 
a  vivid,  clean-lined  triangle  of  frosty-white  cirro-cumu- 
lus, producing  an  effect  so  wonderfully  like  a  snow- 
capped mountain  that  the  mate,  without  stopping  to  re- 


18     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

fleet  that  our  position  at  noon  of  the  previous  day  left 
us  still  almost  a  thousand  miles  from  Hawaii,  the  nearest 
charted  point  where  even  so  much  as  a  rock  pushed 
above  the  bosom  of  the  Pacific,  burst  forth  with  a  lusty 
cry  of  "Land  on  the  starboard  bow!"  The  look  the 
Commodore  gave  the  mate  when,  aroused  from  one  of 
his  short  spells  of  sleep,  he  rushed  on  deck  to  discover 
this  nebulous  "landfall,"  was  more  eloquent  than  vocal 
expression.  It  was  my  impression  that  nothing  was 
said,  but  I  find  that  the  "Ladies'  Log"  records  that 
"Some  words  passed  between  the  officers,  most  of  them 
going  in  one  direction."  So  it  is  just  possible  that  the 
Commodore  was  not  able  to  restrain  his  pent-up  feel- 
ings after  all. 

The  next  day  Claribel  set  to  music  a  verse  of  Henry 
Lawson,  the  New  Zealand  poet,  which  goes  something 
like  this: 

For  the  Southeast  lands  are  dread  lands 

To  the  sailor  in  the  shrouds, 
When  the  low  clouds  loom  like  headlands, 

And  the  headlands  blur  like  clouds; 

choosing  the  time  of  the  mate's  watch  to  come  out  upon, 
the  quarter  deck  and  practise  it.  Wolfe,  blushing 
furiously,  retreated  to  the  lee  of  the  foresail  for  shelter, 
not  to  reappear  until  the  watch  was  called  at  noon.  He 
could  never  see  a  white  cloud  near  the  horizon  after  that 
without  looking  ashamed,  which  was  very  awkward  in 
the  tropics  where  it  was  cloudy  all  the  time;  yet  our  real 
landfall  came  in  form  so  similar  to  the  cloud  island 
which  had  so  completely  deceived  that  functionary  a 
week  previously  that  every  one — including  the  Commo- 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  19 

dore — gazed,  silent  and  mistrustful,  and  waited  for 
some  one  else  to  shout  the  news.  Our  Dead-reckoning 
showed  us  to  be  a  hundred  miles  off  shore  at  daybreak, 
and  it  seemed  impossible  that  even  the  mountain  tops 
could  show  so  clearly  at  so  great  a  distance.  But  as 
the  morning  sun  gained  strength  the  opaque  sheets  of 
strati  along  the  horizon  began  to  thin,  and  gradually 
out  of  the  dissolving  mists,  clear  as  cut  alabaster  against 
the  brilliant  turquoise  of  the  tropic  sky,  the  funicular 
cone  of  a  great  snow-capped  volcano  took  unmistakable 
shape,  and  we  knew  it  for  the  mighty  Mauna  Kea,  fa- 
mous as  one  of  the  loftiest  island  mountain  peaks  in  the 
world. 

"Could  we  make  Hilo  by  dark?"  was  now  the  question. 
The  mate  answered  in  the  negative  and  advised  pro- 
ceeding under  half  sail  and  standing  off -and-on  till  day- 
break. But  the  Commodore,  noting  the  strengthening 
breeze  which  since  midnight  had  been  working  back  into 
the  east  where  it  belonged,  deemed  the  effort  worth 
making,  and  accordingly  ordered  the  sheets  slacked  off 
and  more  sail  set.  Up  fluttered  the  big  main  topmast 
staysail,  up  the  jib  topsail  and  the  flying  jib,  and  up  the 
main  and  fore  gaff -top  sails,  every  one  of  them  drawing 
beautifully  in  the  steady  breeze  that  came  gushing  over 
the  starboard  quarter,  and  each  after  the  other,  as  it 
was  hoisted  and  filled,  doing  its  full  measure  of  work  in 
forcing  the  yacht's  lee  rail  deeper  into  the  yeasty  run 
of  foam  churned  up  by  her  lunging  bows  and  driving 
her  faster  toward  her  goal. 

When  the  great  turtle-backed  Mauna  Loa,  lying  to 
the  south  of  and  beyond  Mauna  Kea,  was  sighted  at 
noon  we  had  been  bowling  along  for  three  hours  at  a 


20     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

gait  that  had  brought  the  black  lava  belts  under  the 
snowline  above  the  horizon,  and  below  these,  still  dim 
and  indistinct  as  the  figures  on  ancient  tapestry,  the  per- 
spectives of  the  gently  undulating  lower  reaches  of  the 
windward  slope  of  the  largest  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands. 

All  through  the  afternoon  watch  the  wind  freshened 
until,  from  an  average  of  ten  knots  in  the  morning,  we 
increased  to  eleven  in  each  of  the  hours  from  twelve  to 
two,  ran  just  over  twelve  knots  from  two  to  three,  and 
but  slightly  under  thirteen  from  three  to  four.  Fortu- 
nately such  sea  as  was  running  was  with  us,  and  though 
there  was  a  constant  smoke  of  spray  about  the  bows, 
and  though  the  sails,  filled  hard  as  sand  bags,  strained 
on  the  masts  till  the  backstays  sang  like  over-strung 
fiddles,  no  green  water  came  aboard  and  nothing  car- 
ried away. 

At  four-thirty  the  masts  of  ships  were  sighted  a  couple 
of  points  off  the  port  bow,  and  taking  in  the  light  sails 
we  headed  up  for  what  we  knew  must  be  Hilo  harbour. 
Ten  minutes  after  the  course  was  altered  a  black  squall 
which  had  been  chasing  the  yacht  passed  astern  of  her 
and  broke  upon  the  land,  its  course  being  as  clearly 
traceable  across  the  velvet  verdance  of  the  rippling  cane 
fields  as  across  the  heavens.  Down  the  coast  it  raced 
us,  gradually  passing  inland  and  leaving  behind  it  a 
wake  of  freshness  that  glistened  like  a  green  satin  rib- 
bon in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  that  was  setting  behind 
a  shoulder  of  the  towering  Mauna  Kea.  There  are  sev- 
eral experiences  in  life  that  mark  with  indelible  impres- 
sion the  pages  of  memory,  but  none  to  compare  with  the 
sensations  that  throng  upon  one  at  his  first  close-in  sight 
of  a  tropical  island. 


HULA    DANCER    WITH    EuKALELE 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  21 

As  the  yacht  stood  into  the  entrance  of  Hilo  harbour, 
which  is  little  more  than  an  open  roadstead  partially 
protected  by  the  submerged  Broom  Reef,  the  wind 
hauled  to  the  south  and  several  short  tacks  were  neces- 
sary to  make  a  favourable  anchorage  that  offered  a 
couple  of  cables'  length  to  the  landward  of  a  big  12,000- 
ton  steamer  of  the  American-Hawaiian  fleet  which  was 
loading  sugar.  The  anchor  was  let  go  in  seven  fathoms 
of  water  at  a  few  minutes  before  six  o'clock,  the  log, 
which  had  been  taken  in  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbour, 
registering  2,430  miles  from  San  Pedro  breakwater. 

The  praises  of  Hilo  itself,  of  its  kind  and  hospitable 
people,  its  unique  and  picturesque  Japanese  quarter, 
its  avenues  of  palms  and  mangoes  and  its  streams  and 
waterfalls,  have  been  sung  so  often  and  so  well  that  I 
reluctantly  forego  more  than  the  briefest  mention  here. 
Further  along  on  the  cruise  there  were  occasions  when 
we  met  with  more  sumptuous  entertainment,  saw  har- 
bours more  picturesque  and  better  protected,  and  moun- 
tains clothed  in  an  even  more  reckless  riot  of  tropical 
vegetation;  but  we  found  no  place  that  ever  seriously 
rivalled  Hilo  for  first  place  in  our  hearts.  It  was  our 
first  love;  our  first  tropical  experience;  the  gateway  to 
those  mystical  latitudes  of  enchantment,  the  South  Pa- 
cific. 

During  the  ten  days  which  Lurline  lay  in  Hilo  Bay 
visits  were  made  to  Kilauea,  the  largest  active  volcano 
in  the  world,  to  the  peerless  Onomea  Gulch  and  to 
several  interesting  sugar  mills  and  plantations.  Our 
stay  was  a  continuous  round  of  luaus  or  native  feasts, 
luncheons,  dinners,  teas  and  drives.  On  the  yacht  we 


22     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

entertained  with  several  small  dinners,  an  evening  of 
fireworks  and  music,  and  an  afternoon  sail,  the  latter 
event  being  recorded  in  the  irreverent  "Ladies'  Log" 
as  a  "Mai  de  Mer  Party." 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  26th  two  of  the  sailors, 
pulling  ashore  to  bring  off  some  visitors,  ran  into  a 
nasty  combination  of  surf  and  tide  rip  at  the  bar  of  the 
Wiluki  River  and  upset.  One  of  the  men  was  caught 
under  the  boat,  and  but  for  the  timely  assistance  of  a 
Japanese  who  had  been  fishing  from  his  sampan  nearby, 
would  undoubtedly  have  been  drowned.  While  the 
plucky  Jap  was  endeavouring  to  secure  the  painter  of 
the  overturned  boat,  his  sampan  drifted  inside  the  break- 
ers and  was  on  the  verge  of  being  itself  upset  when 
rescued  by  a  tug  sent  out  from  the  landing  stage. 

At  four  A.  M.  of  March  2nd  anchor  was  tripped  and 
sail  made  for  the  run  to  Honolulu.  The  wind  at  first 
was  light  and  baffling,  as  a  result  of  which  but  twenty- 
one  miles  up  the  coast  of  the  island  were  run  off  by 
noon.  After  passing  Alea  Point,  however,  the  change 
of  course  made  it  possible  to  slack  off  the  sheets,  and 
under  all  plain  lower  sail  the  yacht  bowled  along  at  a 
nine-knot  gait  until  well  after  dark.  For  the  next  three 
or  four  hours  heavy  squalls  were  encountered,  but  mid- 
night showed  a  clear  sky,  with  the  opaque  mass  of  Maui, 
looming  darkly,  abeam  to  starboard.  This  big  island, 
the  second  in  size  of  the  Hawaiian  group,  is  famous  for 
its  extinct  volcano  of  Haleakala,  the  crater  of  which, 
ten  miles  in  diameter  and  with  rims  that  rise  in  places  to 
an  altitude  of  10,000  feet,  is  believed  to  be  the  largest 
that  has  existed  in  any  era  of  the  world's  geological  his- 
tory. 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  23 

Morning  of  the  3rd  showed  the  gaunt,  forbidding 
cliffs  of  Molokai  on  the  port  beam,  and  our  glasses  read- 
ily located  the  spot  where,  shut  in  by  unscalable  rock 
walls  behind  and  cut  off  by  cordons  of  breakers  in  front, 
the  unfortunate  inhabitants  of  the  leper  settlement  of 
Kalaupapa  drag  out  their  sad  existences. 

The  island  of  Oahu  was  sighted  at  nine,  and  shortly 
afterward  we  headed  into  Molokai  Channel,  said  to  be 
one  of  the  deepest  places  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and,  in 
the  matter  of  baffling  winds  and  waves  and  currents, 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  treacherous  and  uncertain, 
as  we  were  to  learn  on  the  return  voyage.  A  strong 
breeze  increased  to  a  half  gale  by  noon,  and  under 
double-reefed  main  and  foresails  the  yacht  made  not 
any  too  good  weather  of  it  in  the  vicious  cross  tumble 
of  waters  that  assailed  her.  About  noon  the  smooth, 
round  summit  of  Coco  Head  began  to  peer  above  the 
foam-tipped  crests  of  the  in-racing  seas,  and  an  hour 
later  the  sharp,  incisive  outline  of  Diamond  Head 
showed  clear  against  the  northeastern  skyline.  As  we 
brought  its  tall  lighthouse  abeam  the  beach  and  reef  of 
Waikiki,  with  rows  of  white  hotels  and  bungalows,  and 
the  odd  looking  crater  of  the  Punchbowl  tilted  above 
Honolulu  in  the  background,  began  to  open  up  beyond. 
The  Jack  at  the  fore  brought  the  pilot  boat,  rowed  by 
a  crew  of  stalwart,  bare-chested  Kanakas,  out  from  the 
Head  through  a  tortuous  passage  in  the  Reef,  and, 
watching  his  chance,  the  pilot  leapt  to  a  footing  on  the 
ladder  and  clambered  aboard  without  absorbing  so  much 
as  a  drop  of  the  swinging  comber  which  at  the  same 
instant  swept  and  half  swamped  his  plunging  cutter. 

Our  next  three  miles  to  the  entrance  of  Honolulu 


24     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Harbour  was  over  the  regular  track  of  the  transpacific 
liners,  and  the  unfolding  panorama,  like  the  unrolling 
of  an  ever-changing  piece  of  rich  Oriental  brocade,  has 
furnished  the  inspiration  for  descriptions, — good,  bad 
and  indifferent, — by  every  traveller  not  abashed  by  its 
beauty  and  grandeur  who  has  sailed  that  way  since  the 
time  of  Cook.  I  throw  up  my  hands  and  admit  the 
futility  of  adequate  description  at  the  outset;  but  none 
the  less  eagerly  love  to  turn  back  the  pages  of  memory 
to  a  picture — blurred  and  impressionistic  in  detail,  but 
unfading  in  the  brilliancy  of  its  colours — of  that  leeward 
stretch  of  Oahu  between  Diamond  Head  and  Honolulu 
as  it  appeared  on  that  gusty  afternoon  of  our  first  ar- 
rival, a  harmony  in  blues  and  greens — the  sombre  indigo 
of  the  cloud-shadowed  sea,  the  lapis-lazuli  above  the 
coils  of  the  hidden  reefs,  the  sheeny  verdancy  of  the 
palms  and  bananas  along  the  foreshore,  the  verte  ema- 
raude  of  the  slope  up  to  where  Tantalus  and  the  Pali 
were  lost  in  their  crowns  of  cumulus  and  nimbus;  and 
above  all  the  transparent  azure  of  the  tropic  sky. 

The  pilot  took  Lurline  in  through  the  narrow  reef 
which  constitutes  the  entrance  to  Honolulu  Harbour 
under  foresail  and  jib,  handling  her  with  consummate 
skill  in  the  maze  of  cross  currents  and  eddies  which 
make  the  passage  a  dangerous  one  even  for  steamers. 
Immediately  on  gaining  still  water  we  were  boarded  by 
the  harbour-master,  who  moored  us  neatly  and  expedi- 
tiously  in  a  natural  slip  in  the  reef  called  "Rotten  Row," 
scarce  a  cable's  length  from  the  docks  of  the  Pacific 
Mail  and  the  Australian  liners.  Here  the  yacht  lay 
for  three  weeks,  provisioning  and  refitting  for  the  ar- 
duous months  ahead  in  some  of  the  almost  unsailed 


SAN  PEDRO  TO  HONOLULU  25 

corners  of  the  South  Pacific,  while  we — the  Mater, 
Claribel,  the  Commodore  and  myself — lived  ashore,  en- 
joying to  our  utmost  the  hospitality  of  the  gayest, 
richest,  loveliest  and  most  fascinating  of  all  the  Pacific 
island  capitals. 


CHAPTER  II 

HONOLULU    TO    TAIO-HAIE 

WITH  2,000  miles  of  salt  water  stretching  between 
its  windward  shores  and  the  western  coast  of  North 
America,  with  twice  that  distance  separating  it  from 
Asia,  and  with  more  or  less  open  water  rolling  limit- 
lessly  away  to  the  Arctic  and  the  Antarctic,  it  is  only 
natural  that  Hawaii  should  harbour  a  race  of  sea-loving 
people.  A  hundred  years  ago  the  Hawaiians,  bred  true 
to  their  Samoan  progenitors,  fearlessly  embarked  in 
their  sliver-like,  cinnet-sewed  canoes  on  voyages  that 
today  would  be  deemed  hazardous  for  hundred-ton 
schooners;  and  a  half  century  or  more  back  they  were 
hailed  throughout  the  Seven  Seas  as  the  most  daring 
whalers  that  ever  drove  lances  or  hurled  harpoons.  So 
in  assuming  at  the  beginning  of  this  century  the  title  of 
"The  Yachting  Centre  of  the  Pacific,"  Hawaii  is  not 
attaining  to  a  new  distinction,  but  merely  claiming  in  a 
modernized  form  a  heritage  of  ancient  days. 

Honolulu,  judged  by  the  "timber  and  lines"  of  the 
men  behind  the  sport  there,  is  the  peer  of  any  yachting 
centre  in  the  world,  and  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Yacht 
Club  is  composed  of  as  clean-cut,  whole-souled  a  lot  of 
gentlemen  and  sportsmen  as  one  will  meet  east  or  west, 
north  or  south,  in  whatever  country  or  under  whatever 
burgee. 

Kaleakaua,  last  king  of  the  Hawaiians,  was  the  first 
commodore  of  the  yacht  club,  and  at  the  time  of  our 

26 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  27 

visit  the  late  Prince  Cupid,  the  Territory's  representa- 
tive in  Washington  and  once  in  line  of  succession  to  the 
throne,  was  an  active  member.  And  only  in  the  Yacht 
Club,  of  all  Hawaiian  organizations,  have  royalist  and 
reactionary  met  on  terms  of  frank  and  open  friendship. 
The  memories  of  the  stirring  days  of  the  revolution  are 
dimmed  by  the  mists  of  more  than  a  score  of  years,  but 
still  clear  and  distinct  in  island  society  is  drawn  the  line 
of  demarcation  between  the  ever-loyal  one-time  adher- 
ents of  Kaleakaua  and  those  who  were  active  in,  or  in 
sympathy  with,  his  overthrow.  Yet  with  the  yachts- 
men, even  in  the  days  of  the  by-no-means  bloodless  revo- 
lution, animosities,  political,  social  and  personal,  were 
ever  left  ashore,  and  one  saw  leaders  of  the  rival  fac- 
tions bending  their  backs  and  chorusing  together  as  they 
broke  out  the  same  anchor,  or,  shoulder  to  shoulder  and 
foot  to  foot,  swayed  up  the  same  mainsail. 

One  of  the  stock  stories  they  tell  you  at  the  yacht 
club  is  of  an  incident  which  occurred  back  in  the  days 
immediately  preceding  the  revolution,  a  time  when 
rumours  of  plots  flew  thick  and  fast  and  royalist  and  re- 
publican passed  each  other  in  highway  and  byway  with 
distrustful  sidelong  glances,  each  with  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  raised  to  his  hat  in  courteous  salutation  and 
the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  twitching  on  the  butt  of  the 
stubby  "forty-four"  in  his  hip  pocket.  It  chanced  at 
this  time  that  Sanford  B.  Dole,  prominent  from  boyhood 
in  island  affairs  and  then  at  the  head  of  the  conspiracy 
to  overthrow  the  monarchy,  and  Clarence  McFarlane, 
brother  of  the  King's  Master  of  Ceremonies  and  a 
staunch  upholder  of  the  throne,  were  sailing  mates  on 
the  old  Aloha 3  a  trim  forty-foot  sloop  designed  and 


28     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

built  by  Fife  and  brought  out  to  the  Islands  on  the  deck 
of  a  sailing  ship  by  way  of  the  Horn.  On  the  occasion 
in  question  Aloha  had  just  cleared  the  passage  and 
sheets  were  being  slacked  away  for  the  run  before  the 
blustering  Northeast  Trade  down  to  Maui.  A  sudden 
lurch  of  the  boat  caused  Dole  to  lose  his  hitch  on  the  bit, 
the  sheet  was  jerked  from  his  hand,  and  in  lunging  for- 
ward to  regain  his  hold  his  patriarchal  beard — nearly 
two  feet  in  length  and  then,  as  now,  his  most  distinguish- 
ing feature — whisked  into  the  block  and  started  to  wind 
upon  the  whirling  sheave.  Slammed  to  the  deck  and 
in  imminent  danger  of  serious  injury  the  moment  his 
chin  met  the  block,  Dole's  most  frantic  efforts  had 
hardly  more  than  checked  the  run  of  the  sheet,  when 
McFarlane  leaped  forward,  jammed  his  limp  fingers  in 
above  the  sheave,  and  at  the  expense  of  a  badly  lacerated 
hand  stopped  its  deadly  rotation  until  Lorrin  Thurston, 
at  the  wheel,  brought  the  yacht's  head  to  the  wind  and 
put  an  end  to  the  danger.  Two  days  later  the  revolu- 
tion began  which  made  Dole  President,  Thurston  Min- 
ister to  Washington,  and  left  McFarlane  and  the  rest 
of  the  royalists,  politically,  in  obscurity.  Yet  these 
three  still  sail  together  now  and  then,  and  during  our 
stay  in  Honolulu  we  of  Lurline,  both  ashore  and  afloat, 
enjoyed  their  joint  yachting  reminiscences  on  many 
memorable  occasions. 

To  read  over  a  membership  list  of  the  Royal  Hawaiian 
Yacht  Club  from  its  early  days  is  to  con  a  roster  of  the 
men  who  have  made  Hawaii  what  it  is;  and  not  a  man 
who  has  held  the  tiller  of  the  Insular  ship  of  state  and 
guided  it  through  the  storms  that  have  threatened  to 
engulf  it  so  often  during  the  last  three  decades  but  has 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  29 

owed  something  of  the  steadiness  of  his  head  and  hand 
to  the  training  of  his  yachting  days. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Yacht  Club,  I 
salute  you!  Here's  to  your  summer  seas,  and  your  sum- 
mer winds,  and  your  summer  skies,  and  the  summer  in 
your  hearts.  May  you  always  have — I  was  going  to  say 
fair  weather  and  other  things  to  match,  but  I  pause  in 
time.  Yours  are  the  natures  that  make  fair  weather 
out  of  any  storm  that  blows.  So — here's  to  a  sail  above 
you,  a  plank  beneath  you,  the  blue-green  Pacific  about 
you,  and  the  boisterous  Trade  wind  blowing  you  on. 

Honolulu  hospitality  is  of  so  wide  a  fame  that  I  will 
not  lay  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  trying  to  "gild 
refined  gold  or  paint  the  rainbow"  by  telling  here  of  the 
details  of  our  sojourn  in  what  is  so  happily  called  the 
"Pearl  of  the  Pacific";  and  yet — there  was  on  incident 
that  is  so  characteristic  of  the  innate  courtesy  and  gen- 
tility of  the  Hawaiian  host  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for 
setting  it  down. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  our  arrival  in  Honolulu 
that  we  were  invited  to  attend  a  luau  or  native  feast  at 
the  home  of  Col.  Sam  Parker,  a  prominent  planter  of 
the  Islands  and  a  relative  of  the  late  King  Kaleakaua. 
The  affair  was  to  be  informal,  we  were  told,  and  the 
feast  was  to  be  spread  on  the  lanai  or  open  veranda. 
On  the  strength  of  these  assurances,  and  because  the 
night  was  a  hot  and  sultry  one,  the  Commodore  and  I 
thought  that  our  duck  yachting  uniforms  would  fulfil  all 
the  requirements  of  the  occasion,  and  proceeded  to  at- 
tend thus  accoutred.  Imagine  our  feelings,  then,  on 
finding  the  genial  Colonel  Parker  waiting  to  receive  us 


30  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

in  full  evening  dress,  and  observing  that  every  one  of 
the  hundred  and  fifty  other  guests  were  likewise  im- 
peccably garbed.  Two  white  doves  in  a  flock  of  ravens 
could  not  have  been  more  conspicuous  or  out  of  place, 
and  our  discomfiture  was  no  whit  lessened  on  being  led 
to  the  head  of  the  long  table  and  placed  in  the  seats  of 
honour  beside  Colonel  Parker's  step-daughters,  the 
lovely  Princess  Kawanakoa  and  the  no  less  beautiful 
Alice  Campbell.  Not  till  we  were  seated  did  I  notice 
that  our  host's  place  was  vacant. 

For  ten  minutes  the  Commodore  and  I  munched 
shamedly  at  our  poi  and  boiled  seaweed  and  avoided 
the  I-told-you-so  glances  of  the  Mater  and  Claribel  who, 
resplendent  in  "full  racing  rig,"  seemed  palpably 
endeavouring  to  impress  the  assembled  company  with 
the  fact  that  they  had  no  connection  whatever  with 
the  two  ill-at-ease  nautical-looking  gentlemen  in  the 
duck  jackets.  The  Princess  and  her  sister  were  the 
souls  of  wit,  tact  and  amiability,  but  we  continued 
droopy  and  unresponsive  even  under  the  stimuli  of 
their  spirited  sallies.  There  was  only  one  thing  that 
could  happen  to  restore  our  shattered  equanimity,  and 
that — thanks  to  the  inspiration  which  had  doubtless 
seized  upon  our  genial  host  the  moment  our  mis-garbed 
figures  had  hove  above  his  horizon — was  the  very  thing 
that  did  happen.  We  were  just  passing  from  poi  in 
calabashes  to  mullet  boiled  in  ti  leaves,  when  in  breezed 
the  Colonel,  with  only  a  quickened  heaving  of  his  ample 
chest  indicating  the  lightning  change  he  had  been  mak- 
ing, garbed  in  the  undress  uniform  of  a  Commodore  of 
the  Royal  Hawaiian  Yacht  Club,  a  position  which  he 
had  held  during  the  reign  of  the  late  King  Kaleakaua. 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  31 

It  was  a  most  gracious  act  of  kindly  courtesy,  and  I 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  to  hear  the  Commodore 
spent  most  of  the  rest  of  the  evening  trying  to  persuade 
all  the  Parkers,  root  and  branch,  to  get  their  things 
together  and  join  us  for  our  cruise  in  the  South  Pacific. 
In  my  own  thankfulness,  I  distinctly  remember  offering 
several  times  to  make  a  present  of  the  yacht  to  both  the 
Princess  Kawanakoa  and  her  sister  before  I  pulled  my- 
self together  sufficiently  to  realize  that  it  was  not  mine  to 
give. 

The  only  unpleasant  feature  about  letting  go  anchor 
in  Honolulu  Harbour  is  having  to  break  it  out  again. 
After  our  week  of  scheduled  stop  had  stretched  out  to 
two  weeks,  and  finally  to  three,  the  realization  that  our 
reluctance  to  leave  was  but  growing  with  every  day  that 
the  inevitable  moment  was  deferred  brought  us  at  length 
to  the  arbitrary  setting  of  a  sailing  hour.  Toward  this 
we  inflexibly  directed  the  current  of  our  resolutions, 
with  the  result  that  we  really  did  get  away  in  the  end. 

On  the  morning  of  sailing  we  were  pleasantly  sur- 
prised to  receive  word  from  the  Spreckels  Company — 
John  D.  Spreckels  was  the  original  owner  of  Lurline — 
that  it  was  sending  its  big  tug,  Fearless,  to  tow  us  out 
of  the  passage  and  beyond  the  lee  of  the  island  to  the 
breeze-swept  channel.  A  little  later  a  note  came  out 
from  Governor  Carter  informing  us  that  he  was  sending 
the  Royal  Hawaiian  Band  on  the  Fearless  to  pipe 
paeans  of  farewell. 

We  were  not  sailing  until  three  o'clock  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  24th  of  March,  but  soon  after  daybreak 
boats  commenced  coming  off  laden  with  boxes  and  bags 


32     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

and  parcels,  remembrances  from  our  kindly  Island 
friends,  and  toward  noon  the  tide  of  flowers  set  in — 
these  mostly  in  the  form  of  leis  or  garlands  to  be  worn 
about  the  neck.  By  two  o'clock  the  cabin  was  like  the 
shipping  room  of  a  department  store  at  the  climax  of 
the  Christmas  rush,  and  the  deck  a  cross  between  a 
fruitstand  and  a  conservatory.  Nor  was  the  forecastle 
unremembered.  The  sailors,  too,  appeared  to  have 
formed  attachments.  As  the  bluff  bow  of  the  Fearless 
came  nosing  out  into  the  stream  from  under  the  stern  of 
the  big  Siberia  and  all  hands  turned  to  on  the  anchor, 
we  were  treated  to  the  spectacle  of  four  brawny  seamen, 
garlanded  and  festooned  in  trailing  leis  from  head  to 
heel,  bending  and  swaying  in  unison  and  heaving  up  the 
chain  to  a  chantey  that  was  nothing  more  or  less  than  an 
improvisation  from  a  rollicking  native  hula. 

The  line  from  Fearless  was  passed  aboard  and  made 
fast,  and  as  the  anchor  was  broken  out  the  white-coated 
band,  grouped  picturesquely  on  the  forward  deck  of  the 
tug,  struck  up  the  opening  bars  of  a  familiar  air,  and 
Puilani  Molina,  the  sweetest  singer  in  all  of  the 
Hawaiias,  advanced  to  the  rail,  tossed  a  bright-hued  lei 
upon  the  water  and  began  singing  that  most  plaintive 
and  tenderly  sweet  of  all  the  world's  songs  of  farewell, 
"Aloha-oe." 

"Ha-a-heo  ka-u-a-ina  pa — li — ." 

Liquid  silver,  the  full,  clear  notes  floated  out  to  us 
across  the  unrippling  water,  and  from  reef  to  shore  the 
whole  bay  fell  silent  as  she  sang  through  the  first  verse. 
At  the  opening  words  of  the  chorus  a  score  or  more  of 
friends  clustered  on  the  hurricane  deck  of  the  tug  joined 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  33 

in.  Instantly  the  air  was  taken  up  by  the  deep-voiced 
bandsmen;  then  by  the  deckhands  and  grimy  stokers 
gathered  at  the  door  of  the  engine  room,  and  then  by 
the  boatmen  as  they  lay  on  their  oars  in  the  offing, 
until  finally  it  reached  the  shore,  to  come  back  to  us  in 
broken  snatches  from  the  throats  of  the  crowd  that  lined 
the  quays  and  landings. 

"Aloha-oe,  Aloha-oe, 

E-ke  o-na-o-na  no-ho  i-ka  li — po, 

A  fond  embrace — A  ho-i  a-e-au, 
Until  we  meet  again." 

Then  the  screw  of  the  Fearless  began  revolving,  her 
tautening  hawser  swung  Lurline  into  line  astern,  and 
out  through  the  narrow  passage  in  the  reef  we  were 
trailed  in  the  bubbling  wake  of  the  tug.  An  hour  later, 
with  Coco  Head  abeam  and  Diamond  Head  bearing 
N.E.  by  N.,  five  miles  distant,  sail  was  hoisted,  the 
tow-line  cast  off,  and  Lurline,  wing-and-wing  to  a  light 
northwest  breeze,  curtesied  gracefully  to  the  rising 
swells  of  the  channel  and  took  her  first  mincing  steps  in 
the  long  dance  to  the  Marquesas. 

As  we  filled  away,  dipping  our  flag  in  a  farewell 
salute,  we  saw  the  band,  which  since  leaving  the  harbour 
had  been  doing  its  bravest  to  lift  the  sodden  pall  of 
parting  with  rollicking  Kanaka  airs  and  stirring  patri- 
otic selections,  again  stiffen  to  attention,  and  down  the 
wind,  despairingly,  appealingly,  soothingly  by  turns,  as 
though  wafted  by  the  tug's  broadside  of  fluttering  hand- 
kerchiefs, came  for  the  last  time  the  strains  of 
"Aloha-oe."  There  are  many  forms  and  fashions  of 
the  sweet  sorrow  of  parting  of  which  the  poet  sings,  but 


34     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

for  a  long,  long  pull,  with  a  yo-heave-ho,  at  the  heart 
strings,  nothing  like  that  which  steals  over  you  as  you 
listen  to  "Aloha-oe"  with  the  tow-line  in  the  water,  the 
odor  of  Ilima  leis  heavy  in  the  nostrils,  and  the  skyline 
of  fair  Hawaii  blurring  dim  through  a  mist  of  tears. 

The  course  from  Honolulu  to  the  Marquesan  island 
of  Nukahiva  is  about  S.E.  by  E.,  but  in  order  to  run 
as  little  chance  as  possible  of  being  headed  by  the  South- 
east Trades  after  crossing  the  Line,  it  was  deemed  best 
to  lay  our  course  a  couple  of  points  to  the  east  of  this 
until  the  latitudes  of  this  southern  wind  were  reached 
and  its  prevailing  direction  at  that  season  more  accu- 
rately determined.  This  course  we  found  we  had  man- 
aged to  approximate  at  the  end  of  two  weeks'  sailing, 
but  only  at  the  expense  of  being  constantly  on  the  wind ; 
then  to  discover  that  the  Trades  in  the  South  Pacific 
blow  steadily  between  E.S.E.  and  east  for  nearly  all 
of  the  year.  This  meant  that  we  had  put  ourselves  to  a 
good  deal  of  unnecessary  trouble  and  made  but  a  moder- 
ately good  run  where  we  might  have  made  a  very  speedy 
one  by  heading  directly  for  our  destination.  That  from 
Hawaii  to  the  Marquesas  is  one  of  the  few  long  traverses 
in  the  Pacific  where  the  most  direct  course  is  also  the 
fastest. 

The  bleak  rock  of  Lanaii  loomed  abeam  to  windward 
for  several  hours  on  the  night  of  the  24th,  and  morning 
showed  the  dim  blur  of  Maui's  great  crater,  Haleakala, 
blotting  out  the  eastern  sky.  At  noon  the  snowy  peaks 
of  Mauna  Kea  and  Mauna  Loa  detached  themselves 
from  the  fleecy  cloud-racks  down  to  E.S.E.,  and  steadily 
loomed  higher  as  the  sun  declined.  In  the  first  watch 
the  wind  began  falling  lighter,  by  midnight  it  was  only 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  35 

coming  in  fluky  puffs,  and  at  daybreak  Lurline  found 
herself  in  the  most  windlessly  somnolent  patch  of  salt 
water  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Pacific,  the 
lee  of  the  two  great  13,000-foot  volcanoes  that  form  the 
backbone  of  the  island  of  Hawaii. 

Probably  no  other  place  in  the  world  presents  such 
striking  contrasts  of  meteorological  conditions  between 
almost  contiguous  points  as  those  furnished  by  the 
windward  and  leeward  sides  of  Hawaii.  The  lofty 
summits  of  its  volcanoes  tower  so  far  above  the  raincloud 
line  that  practically  no  moisture  whatever  is  able  to 
pass  to  a  large  belt  of  country  on  the  southwest  side  of 
the  island,  and  where  the  annual  precipitation  in  the 
vicinity  of  Hilo  is  occasionally  in  excess  of  two,  and  even 
three  hundred  inches,  that  of  the  Kona  or  leeward  coast 
ranges  from  absolutely  nothing  to  five  or  six.  The  rank 
tropical  verdure  of  the  windward  slopes  is  unknown  in 
this  windless  and  rainless  belt,  and  save  in  places  where 
streams  from  the  perpetual  snows  form  thread-like 
oases,  this  leeward  region  is  largely  desert. 

The  windless  area  behind  the  volcanic  barrier  of 
Hawaii  may  be  roughly  defined  as  a  triangle,  sixty  miles 
wide  at  its  base,  tapering  off  to  an  apex  a  hundred  miles 
or  more  to  leeward.  It  was  well  down  toward  the  base 
of  this  triangle  that  we  were  trying  to  cross  in  an  ill- 
advised  effort  to  avoid  the  alternative  of  sailing  the 
longer  course  to  the  windward  of  the  island. 

Morning  of  the  26th  found  us  in  a  clear,  mirror-like, 
unrippling  sea,  the  surface  of  which,  in  its  absence  of 
motion,  might  have  passed  for  that  of  a  great  fresh- 
water lake.  Scarcely  a  suggestion  of  a  swell  underran 
the  satiny  sheen  of  the  level  sea,  and  for  all  the  motion 


36  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  her  decks  the  yacht  might  have  been  chocked  up  in  a 
dry  dock  for  repairs.  The  booms,  hauled  in  amidship, 
lay  as  though  spiked  to  the  deck;  and  even  the  drowsy 
slatting  of  the  lazy-lines  and  the  brisk  tattoo  of  the  reef 
points — twin  lullabies  of  the  so-called  calms  of  livelier 
seas — were  unheard.  The  log,  as  though  in  emulation 
of  a  sounding  lead,  hung  perpendicularly  from  the 
tafrrail,  its  brass  blades  showing  no  less  clearly  in  the 
lucent,  unwinking  depths  than  the  feathery  weed  that 
fringed  the  motionless  rudder. 

Toward  noon  a  few  faint  leakings  of  wind  came  edg- 
ing in  around  the  north  shoulder  of  Mauna  Kea,  and 
for  some  time  we  had  steerage  way  enough  to  allow  the 
yacht  to  drift  along  at  a  mile  or  so  an  hour,  the  booms 
out  now  on  one  side  and  now  on  the  other  in  an  effort  to 
intercept  the  elusive  airs.  At  six  o'clock  even  these 
vagrant  puffs  had  ceased,  and  as  twilight  followed  the 
sinking  of  the  sun  behind  a  ruled-line  horizon  calm  suc- 
ceeded to  calmer,  until  the  sails  were  finally  taken  in  and 
we  floated,  lazily  waiting,  on  the  heavily  breathing 
bosom  of  the  deep;  for  now  the  shadow  of  a  swell  was 
running  and  imparting  just  enough  motion  to  the  yacht 
to  set  her  decks  rocking  drowsily  to  and  fro  in  accord 
with  the  somnolent  peacefulness  of  the  tropic  night. 

The  afterglow  kindled  and  faded  in  p  le  tints  of 
amber  and  amethyst  and  dusky  olive,  and  almost  up  to 
the  zenith  a  filmy  mass  of  cirrus  cloud,  torn  by  conflict- 
ing air  currents  too  high  to  make  themselves  at  sea 
level,  flamed  up  in  the  reflected  light  for  an  instant  and 
then  broke  and  scattered  into  bits,  like  paper  rose- 
leaves  showered  into  a  shaft  of  red  calcium.  Across  the 
still  expanse  of  the  sea  east  nodded  to  west,  north  nodded 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  37 

to  south,  the  sky  stars  blinked  at  the  sea  stars,  and  the 
sea  stars  blinked  crookedly  back;  and  under  all  ran  the 
indolent  ebony  swells,  gently  rolling  the  yacht  till  she 
rocked  like  a  sleepy  old  beldame,  drowsing  and  catching 
herself  and  drowsing  again. 

Early  in  the  middle  watch  a  light  breeze  stole  out 
again  from  landward — this  time  apparently  coming 
from  the  Mauna  Loa  slope  of  the  island — and  by  day- 
light we  were  twenty  miles  nearer  the  southerly  dead- 
line of  the  windless  triangle.  Then  the  puffs  began 
falling  light  again,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  we  drifted 
without  steerage  way  ten  or  a  dozen  miles  off  the  en- 
trance of  the  beautiful  little  bay  of  Kealakekua.  With 
eyes  straining  through  our  glasses  some  of  us  fancied 
that  we  discerned  the  outlines  of  a  tall  shaft  of  white 
shining  through  the  brown  boles  of  the  cocoanut  palms, 
and  told  each  other  that  we  were  gazing  on  the  monu- 
ment that  marked  the  spot  where  Captain  Cook,  after 
innumerable  hair-breadth  escapes  in  every  important 
island  group  of  the  Pacific,  fell  under  the  clubs  of  the 
warlike  Hawaiians,  fighting  no  less  desperately  to  save 
the  lives  of  his  comrades  than  for  his  own. 

One  would  have  to  cruise  the  Pacific  for  a  lifetime  to 
begin  to  come  to  an  adequate  appreciation  of  what  the 
Great  Navigator  did,  for  the  more  one  sees  the  more 
stupendous  seems  the  sum  of  his  achievement.  From 
where  the  sub-Arctic  waters  wash  the  shores  of  Cook's 
Inlet,  Alaska,  to  Cooktown  in  the  lap  of  the  Antipodean 
tropics,  and  Mount  Cook  raising  its  glacier-seamed 
sides  above  the  bleak  bluffs  of  New  Zealand,  there  is 
hardly  an  important  island  whose  strand  his  tireless  foot 
did  not  press,  and  scare  a  lump  of  coral  rearing  its  head 


38     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

above  the  restless  Pacific  surges  that  his  keen  eye  did  not 
sweep.     Nasty  sailing,  you  think  it,  in  these  days  of 
charts  and  steamers,  when  the  lifeboats  are  swept  from 
the  hurricane  deck  off  Cook's  Inlet  on  your  run  to 
Nome;  and  "A  frightful  hole!"  you  say,  when  your 
"N.Y.K."  steamer  anchors  every  night  as  she  feels  her 
way  along  down  the  Great  Barrier  Reef;  and  every 
minute  is  your  last,  perhaps  you  think,  when  your  "A 
and  A"  steamer  is  hove  to  in  a  Fijian  hurricane,  or 
you're  locked  in  the  cabin  of  your  "A.U.S.N."  packet  in 
a  spell  of  "southeast"  weather  between  Dunedin  and 
Sydney.     Distinctly  bad,  you  think  all  this ;  you  on  your 
6,000-ton  steamer  that  is  equipped  with  every  precau- 
tionary and  emergency  device  known  to  science,  with  a 
powerful  beacon  on  every  headland  and  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  mapped  out  like  a  block  of  lower  Broadway. 
Just  try  and  imagine,  then,  if  you  please,  what  these 
same  places  must  have  been  to  Cook,  who  spent  years 
among  them  in  crazy  old  wooden  ships,  scarcely  a  one 
of  which  but  ended  by  piling  up  on  some  rocky  shore  or 
coral  beach.     Columbus,  Vespucci,  and  the  rest  of  the 
deep-water  navigators,  simply  turned  the  noses  of  their 
ships  west  and  sailed  till  they  got  to  somewhere — and 
then  sailed  back  again.     Cook  spent  years  with  a  man 
at  the  masthead  looking  for  hidden  reefs,  and  with  the 
sounding  lead  going  every  hour  of  the  twenty-four. 

In  my  own  mind  there  are  grave  doubts  as  to  whether 
any  of  us  really  saw  the  Cook  monument  during  that 
long  forenoon  in  which  we  lay  becalmed  off  the  leeward 
coast  of  Hawaii — in  fact,  I  have  since  been  told  that  it  is 
not  visible  from  the  sea  at  all;  but  the  sight  of  Keala- 
kekua — yes,  even  at  a  distance  of  a  dozen  miles  or  more 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  39 

—is  ample  excuse  for  this  slight  tribute  to  one  to  whom 
no  man  that  has  ever  sailed  the  Pacific  will  deny  the 
title  of  "The  Greatest  Navigator  of  History." 

Captain  James  Cook,  sailor,  diplomat  and  gentlemen: 
— Here's  long  and  unbroken  rest  for  your  watch  below 
in  that  quiet  haven  where  you  let  go  Life's  anchor  in 
the  shadow  of  the  towering  Mauna  Loa  and  within 
sound  of  the  lap  of  the  waves  of  that  Pacific,  so  many  of 
whose  tracks  you  were  the  first  to  sail.  Sleep  sound, 
Master  Mariner,  for  your  work  is  done;  and  may  your 
dreams  bring  you  the  messages  of  gratitude  that  arise 
from  the  hearts  of  those  whose  ways  have  been  made 
easier  and  safer  because  of  the  dangers  you  braved  and 
the  sacrifices  you  made.  Accept  this  acknowledgment 
of  the  obligation  of  one  of  those  to  whom  you  showed 
the  way,  James  Cook. 

A  fluky  three  to  five-knot  hreeze  drew  in  from  the 
E.S.E.  about  mid-day,  every  puff  of  which  was  taken 
advantage  of  to  struggle  on  out  of  the  lee  of  the  blanket- 
ing island.  Freshening  slightly  after  nightfall,  it  car- 
ried us  along  at  a  little  better  than  a  four-mile  gait  dur- 
ing each  hour  of  the  first  watch,  near  the  end  of  which 
it  hauled  ahead  and  forced  the  yacht  off  to  southwest 
until  enough  southing  had  been  run  to  allow  her  to  be 
put  about  on  the  other  tack  without  danger  of  butting 
her  nose  into  the  volcanic  bluffs  of  Hawaii. 

Shortly  after  midnight  the  mate  awakened  the  Com- 
modore to  report  a  reflection  on  the  sky  off  to  the  north- 
east, an  announcement  which  brought  every  one  tum- 
bling out  on  deck  in  short  order.  There  was  the  reflec- 
tion, surely  enough;  a  dull  red  glare  on  our  port  quar- 


40    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ter  that  shone  and  dulled  and  shone  again  like  a  blowed- 
on  ember.  The  light  was  on  a  line  with  the  point  where 
the  opaque  mass  of  Hawaii  blotted  out  the  tail  of  the 
Great  Bear,  and  because  there  was  no  sign  of  fire  on  the 
water  we  had  about  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
glare  might  come  from  a  ship  or  sugar  mill  burning 
on  the  windward  side  of  the  island,  when  the  reflection 
suddenly  flared  from  a  dull  cherry  to  a  vivid  flame-red, 
immediately  to  be  quenched  in  tumbling  masses  of 
smoke  or  steam  which  went  shooting  into  the  air  as 
though  driven  by  the  force  of  a 'mighty  explosion. 

"She's  a  steamer!"  yelled  the  mate.  "Them's  her 
boilers  a-bustin'!"  Whereupon  we  all  fell  to  specu- 
lating as  to  what  particular  steamer  it  might  be.  And 
it  was  not  until  six  or  seven  minutes  later  when  a  great, 
deep-toned  reverberation  reached  us — a  sound  so  mighty 
that  all  of  the  steamers  in  the  Pacific  blowing  up  to- 
gether would  have  passed  unnoticed  beside  it — that  light 
finally  burst  in  upon  us  and  we  broke  out  in  chorus 
with  "Kilauea!  in  eruption  again." 

The  actuality  of  this  eruption — only  a  slight  one  as 
it  chanced — we  verified  six  weeks  later  when  our  file 
of  San  Francisco  papers  was  received  in  Tahiti.  In 
referring  since  to  this  most  spectacular  piece  of  vol- 
canic pyrotechnics,  we  have  always  done  so  in  the  words 
of  Claribel,  then  a  recently  emancipated  prisoner  from 
the  grip  of  mat  de  mer.  In  the  sentiently  suffusing 
light  the  sea  rolled  a  dark  pit  of  ox-blood  and  the  heav- 
ens arched  a  vault  of  purple-black  studded  with  pale 
emeralds,  the  stars.  The  half -filled  sails  were  hang- 
ings of  amethyst  silk,  and  the  masts  lances  of  fire 
grounded  in  patches  of  living  flame  where  the  polished 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  41 

brass  work  threw  back  the  rosy  glow  of  the  North- 
east. 

"Look!  look!"  cried  the  sufferer,  clapping  her  hands 
with  excitement  as  the  twisting  pillar  on  the  eastern 
flank  of  Mauna  Loa  took  the  momentary  seeming  of  a 
colossal  figure  in  the  throes  of  a  serpentine.  "Isn't  it 
worth  being  sea-sick  all  the  way  around  the  world  to 
see?  There's  Madame  Pelee  dancing  a  hula!  It's 
Kilauea's  'Aloha'  to  the  Lurliner 

And  "Kilauea's  'Aloha'  to  the  Lurline"  it  has  always 
been  to  us  since. 

Light  and  baffling  southerly  breezes  made  progress 
slow  for  the  first  two  days  after  clearing  the  calm  patch 
in  the  lee  of  Hawaii,  and  when  on  the  29th  these  sud- 
denly straightened  out  into  a  blustering  easterly  blow 
the  immediate  necessity  of  proceeding  under  shortened 
canvas  offset  the  advantage  of  the  long-desired  wind. 
For  two  days  the  yacht  was  close-hauled  on  a  course 
which  approximated  southeast,  bobbing  up  and  down  to 
the  seas  and  making  only  moderately  good  weather  un- 
der double-reefed  mainsail  and  foresail. 

Sea  and  wind  were  still  heavy  at  noon  of  the  31st,  but 
the  latter  had  by  then  come  up  to  northeast,  allowing 
us  to  sail  a  point  or  two  free  on  a  course  of  S.E.  by  E. 
Under  all  plain  lower  sail  we  pounded  into  the  hard- 
heaving  seas  all  afternoon  and  through  the  night  of  the 
31st,  the  decks  constantly  smothered  in  volleys  of  spray 
and  more  than  a  little  green  water  finding  its  way  aboard 
in  some  of  the  heavier  plunges,  yet  averaging  close  to 
eight  miles  an  hour  all  the  time.  Day  broke  on  a  sea 
of  wind-tossed  pampas  plumes,  the  onslaughts  of  waves 
beneath  which  were  responsible  for  a  substantial  shorten- 


42     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ing  of  sail  when  the  morning  watch  was  called.  At  ten 
o'clock,  with  the  glass  down  to  29.70  and  the  wind  in- 
creased to  half  a  gale,  the  canvas  was  still  further  re- 
duced, leaving  the  yacht  doing  a  comfortable  six  knots 
under  double-reefed  mainsail  and  foresail,  and  with  the 
jib  taken  in  and  the  bonnet  out  of  the  foresail. 

For  two  days,  with  the  glass  hovering  about  29.60 
and  the  wind  blowing  fiercely  but  steadily  from  E.N.E., 
we  jolted  along,  full-and-by,  at  from  five  to  seven  knots 
an  hour,  logging  129  miles  on  the  2nd  of  April  and 
159  miles  on  the  3rd.  By  this  time  the  torn,  fussy  seas 
of  the  first  day  of  the  gale  had  lengthened  out  to  vi- 
ciously-running combers,  with  a  resistless  power  under 
their  swinging  upheaves  and  a  decided  sting  in  the  blows 
of  their  hissing  crests.  The  big  third  reef  was  tied  into 
the  mainsail  at  dawn  of  the  4th,  after  a  top-heavy  wall 
of  reeling  water  had  bumped  its  head  on  the  starboard 
boat  in  an  apparent  endeavour  to  salute  the  rising  sun, 
leaving  that  indispensable  adjunct  to  our  life-saving 
service  wallowing  in  its  slackened  lashing  with  a  started 
plank.  This,  with  a  stove-in  galley  sky-light,  made  up 
about  the  sum  total  of  the  damage  inflicted  by  what 
would  have  been  a  really  troublesome  storm  if  there 
had  been  any  land  about  to  look  out  for.  In  the  open 
waters  of  the  Pacific  the  hardest  kind  of  a  straight  blow 
is  of  little  moment  to  a  staunch  schooner,  even  though — 
like  the  Lurline — it  may  have  been  built  as  much  for 
racing  as  cruising.  Where  the  real  danger  lurks  for 
any  kind  of  a  craft  is  in  the  twisting  hurricanes  and  the 
sudden  and  terrific  squalls  which  attack  unexpectedly 
among  the  islands.  At  sea,  as  on  land,  most  of  the 
menace  is  in  the  unforeseen,  striking  instances  of  which 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  43 

truth  we  had  ample  opportunity  to  observe  before  the 
voyage  was  over. 

The  wind  began  abating  in  strength  shortly  after  day- 
break of  the  4th,  and  during  the  day  the  yacht  was  grad- 
ually restored  to  all  plain  sail.  We  must  have  passed 
under  the  sun  at  about  6°  N.  late  in  the  forenoon  of  this 
day,  for  it  inclined  to  the  north  when  the  noon  sight 
showed  our  latitude  to  be  5°  57'.  The  air  and  water 
which  had  been  showing  a  diurnal  increase  of  tempera- 
ture of  about  half  a  degree,  Fahrenheit,  registered  81° 
and  79°,  respectively.  There  was  no  suggestion  of 
oppressiveness  in  the  air  and  a  windsail  was  not  neces- 
sary to  keep  the  cabin  fresh  and  cool. 

In  the  early  morning  of  the  5th  the  wind  began  to 
fall  light  and  fluky,  finally  resolving  itself  into  a  tumul- 
tuous series  of  squalls,  the  last  of  which,  though  it  drove 
the  yacht  off  to  the  west  of  south  at  a  terrific  pace,  for- 
tunately abated  before  anything  carried  away.  When 
it  had  passed  the  wind  settled  itself  contentedly  into 
E.S.E.,  from  which  point  it  continued  amiably  to  purr 
— except  on  three  notable  occasions — through  most  of 
the  four  months  which  we  spent  south  of  the  Line.  We 
had  literally  run  from  the  Northeast  to  the  Southeast 
Trades  in  a  single  squall. 

As  we  neared  the  Line  the  only  indication  of  equa- 
torial weather  was  in  the  ever-livelier  butterfly  chases 
of  the  sunshine  and  showers.  The  winds,  except  for 
increasingly  fierce  squalls  which  we  began  experiencing 
regularly  in  the  early  watches,  were  fresh  and  steady 
from  E.S.E.,  and  so  far  as  any  signs  of  being  in  the 
hated  "horse-latitudes"  were  concerned,  we  might  have 
been  sailing  through  a  week-long  September  afternoon 


44     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

off  the  Golden  Gate.  Considering  the  freshness  of  the 
wind,  the  sea  was  very  light  indeed,  and  we  were  able  to 
carry  most  of  the  kites  to  good  advantage  as  long  as 
there  was  sufficient  daylight  to  permit  watching  the 
approach  of  the  ever-imminent  squalls. 

On  the  7th,  at  three  o'clock,  in  longitude  139°  50', 
we  crossed  the  equator,  just  two  weeks  to  an  hour  after 
weighing  anchor  in  Honolulu.  Air  and  water  were 
slightly  cooler  than  for  some  days — each  registering 
79°,  Fahrenheit — and  so  fresh  was  the  steady  breeze 
from  the  southeast  that  we  stood  uncovered  in  the  sun 
at  noonday  and  in  the  shade  of  the  sails  felt  no  dis- 
comfort in  a  rug. 

By  this  time  we  had  made  easting  sufficient  to  place 
us  well  to  the  windward  of  our  destination  in  any  prob- 
able shift  of  wind.  Sheets  were  slacked  off,  therefore, 
and  freed  from  the  griping  luff  under  which  she  had 
chafed  almost  incessantly  for  the  last  fortnight,  Lur- 
line  slipped  away  on  a  course  of  due  south  at  a  gait 
which  ran  up  close  to  190  miles  on  the  log  for  the  day 
ending  at  noon  of  the  9th.  At  this  time,  with  240  miles 
— part  of  it  down  a  narrow  island  channel  beset  with 
swift  currents  and  variable  winds — remaining  to  be  cov- 
ered before  we  would  begin  to  open  up  the  bay  of  Taio- 
haie,  Nukahiva,  all  practicable  canvas  was  crowded  on 
in  an  endeavour  to  make  port  the  following  day.  Eight 
and  nine  knots  we  made  all  afternoon;  good  speed  con- 
sidering the  force  of  the  wind,  yet  hardly  what  might 
have  been  desired  under  the  circumstances.  But  the 
breeze  was  stiffening  as  twilight  came  on,  and  realizing 
that  failure  to  make  anchorage  before  another  evening 
would  mean  a  night  of  standing  off-and-on  in  a  scant 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  45 

sea-way  and  uncertain  winds,  the  Commodore,  for  the 
first  time  since  entering  those  capricious  latitudes,  al- 
lowed the  light  sails  to  be  carried  into  the  darkness. 

Sailing  like  a  witch  in  the  freshening  breeze,  Lurline 
reeled  off  a  shade  under  twenty  miles  in  the  second  dog 
watch,  and  10.6,  10.8,  11.3  and  11.8  were  successively 
run  up  on  the  log  as  the  hours  of  the  first  watch  slipped 
away.  The  night  was  balmy  soft,  the  breeze  a  stream 
of  warm  milk,  and  in  the  air  was  discernible  that  faint, 
indefinable  odour  of  something  which  heralds  the  pres- 
ence of  land  to  nostrils  grown  sensitive  from  inhaling 
for  weeks  the  untainted  atmosphere  of  the  open  sea. 
The  heavens,  save  for  a  few  hurriedly  'marching  squads 
of  the  ever-shifting  cirro-cumulus,  were  clear  and  un- 
obscured,  and  the  easy-running  swells  were  as  gentle  as 
the  night  itself. 

The  yacht  continued  to  reel  off  the  miles  like  a  liner 
during  the  early  hours  of  the  middle  watch,  but  toward 
morning  the  appearance  of  several  menacing  turrets  of 
cloud  up  to  windward  was  the  signal  for  the  hurried 
taking  in  of  the  light  sails  and  an  easing  off  of  the  sheets. 
For  a  while  it  appeared  that  all  of  the  three  rapidly 
advancing  squalls  were  going  to  pass  astern  of  us,  and 
so,  in  fact,  two  of  them  did.  The  third  one  took  an 
unexpected  spin  at  the  last  moment  and  came  charging 
up  after  the  yacht  like  a  mad  bull.  There  was  just 
time  hastily  to  furl  the  jib  and  station  men  at  the  fore 
and  mainsail  halyards  before  it  broke  upon  the  yacht 
with  the  explosive  roar  of  a  bursting  bomb,  and  the 
timely  letting  go  of  those  halyards  as  she  hove  down 
before  the  terrific  force  of  the  wind  undoubtedly  saved 
some  canvas  if  nothing  more. 


46     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

The  mainsail  was  checked  half  way  in  its  run  and  the 
very  considerable  portion  of  it  that  fell  overside  went 
hopping  and  skipping  along  on  the  water  like  a  great 
wounded  bird  as  the  yacht  smoked  away  before  the 
squall.  For  ten  minutes,  perhaps,  we  ran  thus,  half 
smothered  in  air  and  water ;  then  the  rain  began  falling, 
the  wind  fell  lighter,  and  the  squall,  so  far  as  we  were 
concerned,  had  spent  itself.  Five  minutes  later  the 
main  boom  had  been  hauled  inboard,  the  sail  hoisted, 
and  Lurline  was  gliding  off  down  to  southward  no  whit 
worse  for  her  rough  raking.  The  main  topmast  stay- 
sail was  run  up  when  the  morning  watch  was  called, 
and  dawn  found  her  doing  a  comfortable  nine  knots  an 
hour  with  the  situation  well  in  hand. 

As  the  sun  rose  the  somewhat  vague  land  smell  which 
we  had  noted  during  the  night  increased  to  a  delicate 
but  unmistakable  odour  of  flowers,  a  perfume  which  we 
later  learned  is  due  to  the  presence  in  the  air  of  the 
blown  pollen  of  the  cos  si,  a  low  bush-like  plant  which 
carpets  the  islands  of  the  Marquesas  and  blooms  peren- 
nially. So  pungent  and  far-reaching  is  this  odour  that 
it  has  become  a  common  saying  with  trading  captains 
who  sail  these  latitudes  that  you  can  smell  the  Marquesas 
farther  than  you  can  see  them,  a  statement  which  is 
certainly  literally  true  anywhere  to  the  leeward  of  the 
group. 

Shortly  after  eight  o'clock  the  shattered  peaks  of  the 
island  of  Uahuka  were  sighted  dead  ahead,  and  at  nine 
the  course  was  altered  to  S.W.  by  W.  After  an  hour 
or  so  the  dim  outline  of  Nukahiva  began  taking  shape 
in  the  dissolving  mist,  and  when  the  scarped  and  but- 
tressed summit  of  Cape  Maartens  came  edging  out  from 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  47 

behind  the  abrupt  heads  to  north'ard,  we  had  something 
definite  to  go  by,  and  promptly  trimmed  in  sheets  and 
headed  up  to  clear  a  forbidding  point  of  black  basalt 
which  our  Directions  told  us  jutted  out  into  the  sea  to 
cut  off  the  surges  from  the  inner  loop  of  the  bay  of 
Taio-haie. 

Along  the  rugged  coast  we  slipped,  now  close  in  to 
a  sinister  dirk-like  point  which  reached  out  to  divide  and 
scatter  the  onrushing  seas,  and  again  standing  across 
the  opening  of  a  bay  or  inlet  which  receded  to  a  snowy 
beach  backed  by  a  lucent  lagoon  and  a  chasm  full  of 
unfathomable  verdure.  Beyond  the  furrowed  brow  of 
Cape  Maartens  a  narrow  bay,  well  protected  and 
smooth  as  a  mirror,  ran  inland  beyond  eye-scope,  pierc- 
ing the  island  like  a  sliver  of  silver.  From  where  it  dis- 
appeared in  a  dense  mass  of  palms  and  pandanus  a  high- 
walled  valley  wound  back  among  the  serried  ribs  of  the 
mountains,  apparently  to  end  abruptly  against  a  lofty 
cliff,  the  sheer  side  of  the  towering  backbone  range  of 
the  island. 

Here  and  there  up  the  valley  patches  of  dancing  light, 
shining  through  the  sombre  green  of  the  riot  of  trees 
and  creepers,  told  of  a  swiftly-running  stream,  and  down 
the  face  of  the  great  cliff,  literally  leaping  from  the 
clouds  to  the  earth  in  a  single  bound,  was  a  waterfall. 
Lucent,  glittering  green  it  must  have  been  up  where 
it  began  its  dizzy  plunge  in  the  heart  of  the  murky  mass 
of  drifting  nimbus  which  veiled  its  source,  but  white — 
snow-white — it  gleamed  where  it  appeared  under  the 
dark  cloud  line  to  fall  in  a  brocade  of  shimmering  satin 
into  the  misty  depth  below.  We  did  not  learn  about  it 
until  the  next  day;  but  this  fall  was  Typee  Fall,  the 


48     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

stream  was  Typee  River,  and  the  valley  was  Typee 
Valley,  the  scene  of  that  most  idyllic  of  all  South  Sea 
idylls,  Herman  Melville's  "Typee." 

We  never  attained  nearer  than  five  miles  to  the  great 
fall  during  our  stay  in  the  Marquesas,  and  accurate  fig- 
ures regarding  its  height  were  not  obtainable.  Find- 
lay's  Directory  gives  it  at  2,165  feet,  which  is  probably 
too  much ;  but  the  fact  remains  that  it  is  one  of  the  high- 
est waterfalls  in  the  world,  and  without  a  rival  on  any 
island  whatever. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  we  doubled  the  gaunt  black 
point  toward  which  we  had  been  steering  for  some  hours, 
suddenly  to  find  the  panorama  of  the  beautiful  bay  of 
Taio-haie  unfolding  before  us.  Pursuant  to  the  instruc- 
tions in  the  Sailing  Directory,  we  ran  up  the  Jack  to  the 
fore  and  stood  off  across  the  entrance  waiting  for  the 
pilot,  without  whom,  so  we  read,  there  was  a  heavy  pen- 
alty for  endeavouring  to  enter.  Then  we  went  about 
and  ran  back  past  the  little  island  at  the  end  of  the  point, 
all  without  awakening  a  sign  of  life  along  the  drowsy 
shore  where  nestled  the  village.  After  repeating  this 
manoeuvre  twice  more,  the  Commodore  ordered  the 
sheets  slacked  off  and  gave  the  man  at  the  wheel  his 
bearing  for  the  first  leg  of  the  run  in. 

"Perhaps  the  pilot  has  overslept  on  his  siesta  today," 
he  remarked  dryly;  "and  if  that's  the  case  our  anchor 
gun  may  wake  him  up." 

We  went  in  neatly  and  expeditiously.  "Keep  the 
eastern  outer  bluff  on  the  starboard,"  read  the  Direc- 
tions, "rounding  the  island  off  it  within  a  cable's  length. 
All  the  eastern  shores  of  the  bay  are  steep -to  and  free 
from  danger,  and  the  wind  will  always  lead  off."  And 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  49 

that  was  about  all  there  was  to  it.  We  let  go  the  anchor 
a  few  minutes  after  five,  a  quarter  mile  off  the  rickety 
wharf,  in  seven  fathoms.  Our  time  from  Honolulu 
was  just  over  seventeen  days,  the  quickest  passage  of 
which  there  was  any  record.  Had  we  sailed  a  course 
to  avoid  the  windless  area  in  the  lee  of  Hawaii,  and  then 
headed  directly  for  Nukahiva  it  is  probable  that  the  run 
would  have  been  made  in  the  vicinity  of  twelve  or  thir- 
teen days. 

The  firing  of  our  little  signal  cannon  might  have  been 
the  setting  off  of  a  mine  under  the  village,  so  electric 
was  the  effect.  Dark  forms  sprang  up  from  nowhere 
and  began  darting  hither  and  thither  and  yon,  and  fol- 
lowing the  appearance  of  a  corpulent  figure  in  pajamas 
at  the  door  of  what  seemed  to  be  the  official  residence, 
the  tri-colour  of  France  went  jerking  up  to  its  flag-pole. 
Down  the  front  street  shortly  came  lumbering  a  ponder- 
ous figure  in  a  brass-bound  helmet  and  white  uniform, 
followed  by  a  trailing  sword  and  a  half  dozen  natives 
carrying  oars  on  their  shoulders.  Two  other  white  men, 
also  white-clad  and  sun-helmeted,  joined  the  procession 
as  it  passed  what  appeared  to  be  a  trading  store,  and 
the  three  proceeded  together  down  to  the  wharf  and  put 
off  in  a  big  whaleboat. 

Driven  by  the  erratic  but  powerful  strokes  of  the  big 
natives,  the  boat  was  quickly  alongside  the  yacht,  and 
the  official-looking  gentleman  came  puffing  up  the  lad- 
der which  had  been  hastily  lowered  for  him.  He  was 
Brigadier  Bouillard,  the  Harbour  Master,  Warden  of 
the  Prison  and  Chief  of  Police,  he  announced  between 
gasps  in  broken  English,  and  the  other  gentlemen  fol- 
lowing him  over  the  rail  were,  respectively,  Mr.  Cramer, 


50     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

a  German  trader,  and  Mr.  McGrath,  a  Canadian  trader. 
Of  the  latter,  one  of  the  most  interesting  characters  we 
met  in  the  course  of  our  whole  cruise,  we  were  destined 
to  see  much  during  our  stay  in  Nukahiva. 

"By  the  way,"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  "where's  your 
pilot?"  asked  the  Commodore  after  the  large  official  had 
examined  our  papers  and  admitted  the  yacht  to  prac- 
tique.  "Hasn't  he  overslept  this  afternoon?" 

"Zee  pilate!  Mon  Dieu,  he  ees  no" —  And  at  this 
point,  with  wild  rollings  of  the  eyes  and  swift  gestures 
of  uncertain  import,  the  Brigadier  relapsed  into  French 
so  voluble  and  excited  as  to  prove  quite  unintelligible 
to  our  untrained  ears. 

"The  Brigadier,"  explained  the  blond  Cramer  in  his 
exact  Teutonic  English,  as  the  excited  Frenchman 
paused  for  breath,  "is  trying  to  tell  you,  in  effect,  that 
the  last  pilot  but  one  was  killed  'and  eaten  by  relatives 
of  a  trading  schooner's  crew  who  were  drowned  when 
that  boat  was  piled  up  on  the  beach  because  the  pilot 
had  taken  too  much  absinthe  and  mistook  a  firefly  on 
the  bowsprit  for  the  light  on  the  wharf.  A  similar  fate 
also  overtook  his  successor,  apparently  for  no  other  rea- 
son than  that  the  office  had  become  an  unpopular  one 
with  the  natives.  Since  then,"  he  added,  "the  govern- 
ment has  been  unable  to  find  any  one  willing  to  accept 
the  position  under  any  inducements." 

"Hardly  to  be  wondered  at,"  mused  the  Commodore. 
"But,  I  say,  can  any  of  you  gentlemen  tell  me  if  this— 
er — antipathy  of  the  Marquesan  natives  toward  pilots 
extends  to  skippers  who  bring  in  their  own  ships?     It's 
a  little  late  for  working  out  of  the  harbour  before  dark; 


HONOLULU  TO  TAIO-HAIE  51 

but  the  wind's  fair  most  of  the  way  and,  anyhow,  I'd 
rather  be  drowned  than  eaten." 

The  natives  had  always  respected  visiting  yachts,  they 
asseverated  earnestly,  and-— ias  we  learned  later — truth- 
fully. The  Commodore  took  courage  on  hearing  this 
and  decided  to  chance  it  for  a  day  or  two.  It  was  not 
until  our  arrival  in  Tahiti,  a  fortnight  later,  that  we 
learned  that  perhaps  the  forbearance  of  the  natives  in 
the  matter  of  visiting  yachts  may  have  been  partly  due 
to  the  fact  that,  previously  to  Lurline's  coming,  only 
three  craft  of  that  class  had  ever  been  to  the  Marquesas. 

In  the  "Ladies  Log"  of  this  date  I  find  the  following 
entry : 

"We  sailed  in  ourselves  and  fired  off  our  signal  gun  to 
wake  up  the  pilot.  Found  out  shortly  that  nothing  of 
less  calibre  than  Gabriel's  Trumpet  would  have  been 
equal  to  that  task." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   MARQUESAS   TODAY 

IT  is  a  strange  anomaly  that  the  Marquesan,  by  long 
odds  the  fastest  disappearing  of  the  Polynesian  races,  is 
made  up  of  individuals  of  incomparably  finer  physique 
than  those  of  any  other  of  the  islands  of  the  South  Pa- 
cific. Of  a  dozen  natives  picked  at  random  from  the 
beach  of  Taio-haie,  there  would  probably  be  not  over 
three  or  four  who  would  not  show  more  or  less  of  his 
dark  head  above  the  end  of  a  six-foot  tape,  and  the 
breadth  and  muscling  of  each  would  be  in  proportion. 
The  women  are  likewise  of  good  size  and  figure,  and, 
when  undisfigured  with  tattooing,  of  considerable  beauty 
as  well.  Both  sexes  accomplish  prodigious  feats  of 
walking,  swimming  and  rowing,  and  both  invariably 
bear  up  remarkably  under  hardship  and  privation  such 
as  that  incident  to  being  cast  away  to  sea  for  weeks  in 
an  open  boat. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  startling  decrease  in  the  pop- 
ulation of  the  Marquesan  group,  except  for  occasional 
epidemics,  is  due  to  scarcity  of  births  and  a  lack  of  vi- 
tality in  the  children  rather  than  to  an  abnormal  num- 
ber of  deaths  among  the  adults.  This  condition  is 
largely  traceable  to  the  existence  of  a  number  of  more 
or  less  active  forms  of  blood  disease  introduced  by  the 
whites  of  the  Pacific  whaling  fleet  of  half  a  century  ago, 
and  to  certain  vicious  practices  in  connection  with  the 
prevention  of  child-bearing  prevalent  in  the  over-popu- 

52 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  53 

lous  days  of  the  group.  Cannibalism  and  intertribal 
wars  have  frequently  been  assigned  as  potent  factors  in 
the  decimation,  but  it  is  notable  that  neither  has  had 
such  effect  in  the  Solomon  or  New  Hebridean  groups, 
where  both  are  prevalent  today. 

The  early  explorers  estimated  the  population  of  the 
island  of  Nukahiva  at  from  30,000  to  40,000.  In  1804 
there  was  believed  to  be  not  over  18,000  on  the  island, 
and  in  1836  but  8,000.  A  French  census  in  1856 
enumerated  but  2,960,  which  number  had  fallen  to  800 
by  1880.  In  1889  Stevenson  found  Taio-haie  a  lively 
village  with  a  club,  barracks,  hotel,  numerous  stores  and 
a  considerable  colony  of  French  officials;  Hatiheu  and 
Anaho  were  villages  of  upwards  of  a  hundred  natives 
each.  At  the  time  of  our  visit  in  the  Lurline  there  re- 
mained in  Taio-haie  but  three  French  officials,  a  single 
German  trader,  three  or  four  missionaries  and  a  native 
population  just  short  of  ninety.  The  villages  of  Hati- 
heu and  Anaho  had  but  a  few  over  a  hundred  inhabitants 
between  them. 

In  the  veins  of  the  Nukahivan  of  today  course  two 
strains  of  foreign  blood  of  widely  diverse  origin.  Dur- 
ing the  latter  part  of  the  13th,  and  for  most  of  the  17th 
century,  the  island  was  a  rendezvous  for  a  large  colony 
of  buccaneers  who  had  chosen  that  location  for  the  ad- 
vantages it  gave  them  in  preying  upon  the  Spanish  gal- 
leons plying  between  Peru  and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama, 
as  well  as  in  raiding  settlements  on  the  intervening  coast 
of  South  America.  These  pirates,  after  some  years  of 
fighting,  brought  the  natives  of  the  Taio-haie  and  Hati- 
heu districts  into  a  state  of  complete  subjection,  while 
their  relations  with  the  tribes  of  the  interior  appeared 


54     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

to  have  been  in  the  nature  of  an  armed  neutrality.  The 
subject  natives  were  employed  at  sea  as  sailors  and  boat- 
men, and  on  land  as  gardeners  and  herdsmen.  The  cat- 
tle, pigs  and  goats  brought  to  the  island  by  the  free- 
booters must  have  been  the  progenitors  of  the  wild 
animals  of  these  species  which  abound  there  today. 
With  the  natives  of  the  interior  some  trading  for  food 
was  carried  on  at  times  when  the  drought  on  the  coast 
made  short  crops  of  coconuts,  breadfruit  and  bananas. 

When  the  streams  of  Incan  gold  from  Peru  began  to 
run  low  and  buccaneering  became  unprofitable  as  a  con- 
sequence, the  Nukahivan  pirate  colonies  gradually 
changed  back  to  native  villages.  After  the  last  of  the 
strangers  had  died,  their  descendants,  through  inter- 
marriage with  pure-blooded  natives,  reverted  little  by 
little  to  the  predominating  type,  until  the  evidences  of 
the  blood  of  white  men  in  their  veins  survived  only  in 
straighter  hair  and  features,  harder  eyes,  a  sharper  and 
more  uncertain  temper  and  an  increased  arrogance. 
They  were  a  handsomer  people  physically,  and  a  keener 
one  mentally  than  the  original  Marquesan,  but  withal  a 
race  whose  morals  were  in  rags  and  tatters. 

For  some  decades  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century 
Nukahiva  was  the  main  base  of  a  large  portion  of  the 
Pacific  whaling  fleet.  Ships  spent  months  at  a  time  at 
Taio-haie,  refitting  and  reprovisioning,  and  the  island 
gained  many  new  and  undesirable  inhabitants  through 
desertions  from  their  crews.  The  worst  epidemic  of 
smallpox  ever  recorded  in  the  South  Pacific  was  started 
in  Nukahiva  by  a  maroon  from  a  whaler,  and  the  pres- 
ent-day prevalence  of  blood  and  skin  disease  is  directly 
traceable  to  similar  sources.  The  women  were  carried 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  55 

off  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  on  the  whalers  and  few  in- 
deed of  them  ever  found  their  way  back;  for  the  good 
of  future  generations  it  would  have  been  better  had 
none  of  them  done  so. 

The  moral  laxity  of  the  Marquesan  of  the  present  day 
is  undoubtedly  a  legacy  of  these  two  occupations  of  the 
principal  island  by  the  lowest  of  the  sea's  riff-raff,  pi- 
rates and  whalers.  In  Nukahiva  chastity  is  quite  un- 
known to  any  class,  and  a  century  of  work  on  the  part  of 
the  French  missionaries  has  left  little  mark  upon  the 
morals  of  the  people.  They  are  prone  to  throw  them- 
selves at  every  opportunity  into  the  most  unlicensed 
debauchery,  and  they  know  no  law  save  that  of  the  appe- 
tites. The  feasts  of  the  present  generation  of  Nuka- 
hivans — aside  from  cannibalism,  which  is  still  practised 
whenever  the  chances  for  escaping  detection  are  favour- 
able— are  howling  orgies  of  two  and  three  days'  dura- 
tion, their  riotous  excesses  uninterrupted  even  by  inter- 
vals of  singing  and  dancing,  as  in  Samoa,  Tahiti  and 
Fiji.  The  song  and  the  dance,  which  represent  to  the 
Polynesian  about  all  that  religion,  music  and  the  drama 
combined  do  to  us,  have  died  out  in  the  Marquesas  even 
faster  than  the  people. 

The  Marquesans  of  a  century  ago  were  the  most  com- 
pletely and  artistically  tattooed  people  in  the  Pacific,  and 
the  practice  is  carried  on  among  them  to  a  certain  extent 
even  today.  The  really  fine  pieces  of  work,  however, 
such  as  the  famous  right  leg  of  the  late  Queen  Vaekehu 
over  which  Stevenson  waxed  so  enthusiastic,  are  confined 
entirely  to  the  very  old,  and,  what  with  wrinkles,  de- 
formities and  the  wear  and  tear  of  time,  these  have  lost 
most  of  their  original  sharpness  of  colour  and  outline. 


56     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

None  of  the  new  generation  appears  to  have  the  forti- 
tude to  endure  the  exquisite  pain  incident  to  having  a 
whole  limb  picked  out  in  a  network  of  geometric  design 
or  the  face  barred  and  circled  like  a  coarse  spider's  web. 

Women  are  rarely  tattooed  at  all  now,  and  most  of 
the  young  men  are  satisfied  with  a  broad  band  of  solid 
black — not  unlike  a  highwayman's  mask  in  effect — 
which  reaches  across  the  face  from  ear  to  ear,  giving  to 
their  never  overly-mild  countenances  an  expression  of 
amazing  ferocity.  That  the  art,  and  a  certain  pride 
connected  with  it,  are  not  yet  lost  to  the  Marquesans, 
however,  was  amusingly  shown  by  an  incident  which 
occurred  the  day  after  Lurline's  arrival  in  Taio-haie. 
On  this  occasion,  in  testing  some  newly-opened  shells, 
we  fired  ten  or  a  dozen  shots  in  rapid  succession  from  the 
yacht's  brass  signal  cannon.  At  the  first  report  a  bevy 
of  Marquesan  damsels,  who  had  come  off  to  sell  sandal- 
wood  and  shark-tooth  necklaces,  stampeded  to  their 
canoes  and  could  not  be  induced  to  return  until  all  ac- 
tivity in  the  firing  line  had  ceased. 

Then  they  all  clambered  gleefully  aboard  again,  and 
one  of  them  so  far  forgot  herself  as  to  sit  down  on  the 
deck  and  lean  languidly  back  with  her  plump  brown 
shoulder  against  the  sizzling  hot  breech  of  the  signal  gun. 
That  was  the  last  languid  movement  she  made  for  some 
time.  Came  the  sharp  hiss  of  singed  flesh  and  then, 
with  the  scream  of  a  frightened  wildcat,  the  girl  cleared 
the  low  rail  as  though  thrown  from  a  catapult,  swam 
half  a  hundred  feet  under  water,  to  go  lunging  straight 
off  for  the  shore  the  instant  her  head  rose  above  the  sur- 
face. 

Now  it  chanced  that  across  the  breech  of  our  little 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  57 

cannon  was  engraved  the  name  "LURLINE,"  picked 
out  in  ornamental  scrolleries,  and  beneath  it,  in  rich  re- 
pose, the  figure  of  a  puffy  dolphin  in  the  act  of  gulping 
down  a  buxom  mermaid.  Such  of  this  bas-relief  as  had 
come  in  contact  with  the  fair  Marquesienne's  shoulder 
left  its  mark,  which  striking  design  was  no  sooner  seen 
by  the  tribal  tattooist  than  he  needs  must  perpetuate 
what  he  feared,  no  doubt,  was  but  an  ephemeral  impres- 
sion. 

So  fishbone  needles  and  black  gum  were  hastily 
brought  into  play,  and  several  days  later,  when  the  in- 
flammation had  subsided  sufficiently  to  enable  her  to  be 
about,  the  proud  and  grateful  young  beauty  brought  the 
decoration  off  for  us  to  see.  "RLINE"  we  read  in 
wobbly  reversed  letters,  and  beneath,  floundering  des- 
perately across  a  shoulder  blade,  a  stub-tailed  mermaid 
could  be  discerned  in  the  act  of  disappearing  into  the 
impressionistic  but  unmistakable  head  of  a  dolphin.  A 
half  dozen  of  the  now  distinguished  young  person's  girl 
friends  accompanied  her,  and  every  one  of  the  envious 
minxes  persisted  in  embracing,  leaning  against  and  sit- 
ting upon  that  now  cool  but  still  ornamental  signal-gun 
breech  in  anxious  endeavours  to  get  patterns  of  their 
own  to  take  back  to  the  village  tattooist. 

But  the  cunningest  picture  ever  executed  upon  the 
body  of  any  Marquesan,  living  or  dead,  pales  to  insig- 
nificance when  compared  to  the  amazing  hieroglyphic 
record  depicted  upon  the  skin  of  a  living  Marqueso- 
American,  John  Hilyard.  Readers  of  Stevenson  may 
recall  the  tattooed  man,  who  was  the  first  resident  of 
Taio-haie  to  discover  the  appearance  of  the  strange 
schooner  in  the  introductory  chapter  of  "The  Wreck- 


58     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ers."  A  bit  of  the  history  of  that  strange  character 
is  also  hinted  at,  I  believe,  but,  according  to  the  present- 
day  gossip  of  the  ' 'beach"  of  Taio-haie,  it  is  all  wrong. 
For  the  real  story  I  am  indebted  to  our  friend,  Mc- 
Grath,  the  trader  of  Hatiheu,  who  once  nursed  Hilyard 
through  a  spell  of  fever  and  attained  to  more  of  that 
queer  outcast's  confidence  than  any  one  else  on  the 
island.  From  Hilyard  himself — now  a  man  of  about 
seventy,  with  his  grotesquely  figured  body  fully  clothed 
and  as  much  as  possible  of  his  face  obscured  with  a  bushy 
beard, — absolutely  nothing  can  be  learned,  and  I  was 
considered  to  have  done  remarkably  well  in  holding  him 
during  a  ten-minute  discussion  of  shark  baits.  I  will 
outline  here  in  a  single  paragraph  a  story  which,  meas- 
ured in  pangs  of  soul  and  body,  would  tax  the  compass 
of  a  modern  novel  adequately  to  depict. 

Deserting  from  the  American  whaler,  Nancy  Dawson, 
when  that  ship  was  careened  at  Anaho  in  the  60's  for 
calking,  was  a  raw  youth  of  twenty,  who  had  run  away 
from  his  home  in  a  California  mining  camp  and  signed 
on  in  San  Francisco.  White  men  were  scarce  in  the 
Marquesas,  and  after  working  for  a  while  in  a  trading 
store  in  Taio-haie,  he  shortly  became  supercargo  on  a 
trading  schooner,  and  at  length  the  owner  of  a  conces- 
sion and  boats  of  his  own.  It  was  at  the  height  of  his 
prosperity  that  he  met  and  fell  captive  to  the  charms 
of  Mariva,  who  was  reputed  beautiful  and  undoubtedly 
was  coquettish,  as  the  sequel  shows.  She  accepted  Hil- 
yard's  presents,  but  told  him  that,  while  she  liked  his 
personality  well  enough,  she  detested  the  sight  of  his 
white  skin.  Let  the  village  tattooer  remedy  that  and 
perhaps —  The  love  lorn  wretch  was  off  to  put  him- 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  59 

self  under  the  needle  before  she  had  finished.  Mariva 
dropped  in  occasionally  upon  the  session  of  torture  which 
followed  and,  now  by  criticism,  now  by  approval,  urged 
on  the  flagging  artists  to  renewed  effort.  When  geo- 
metric whorls  and  bands  and  parallelograms  were  ex- 
hausted, Mariva  herself  dipped  a  dainty  forefinger  in 
the  black  kuki-soot  gum  and  began  improvising  designs. 
"That  broad  chest  was  made  by  nature  to  support  a 
clump  of  bananas."  "What  could  be  daintier  than  some 
fat  pigs  gorging  on  mangoes  in  the  hollow  of  that  back?" 
She  and  an  invited  bevy  of  friends  sang  himines  to 
drown  Hilyard's  groans  while  he  was  conscious,  and 
when  he  fainted  with  the  pain  and  lay  in  a  stupor  they 
seized  spare  needles  and  tried  their  own  hands  at  tattoo- 
ing. At  the  end  of  the  second  day,  with  designs  two 
and  three  deep  all  over  the  body  of  the  unconscious 
trader,  they  desisted,  less  from  exhaustion  than  from  a 
lack  of  further  skin  that  would  take  an  impression. 
Hilyard  lay  in  a  swoon  all  night,  and  in  the  morning 
was  carried  to  the  mission  house  with  a  raging  fever. 
That  night  the  faithless  Mariva  eloped  with  a  half- 
caste  missionary  preacher,  took  possession  of  one  of  Hil- 
yard's  schooners,  sailed  it  to  the  Paumotos,  where  they 
ultimately  set  up  in  trading  on  their  own  account  and, 
as  far  as  any  one  knows,  lived  happily  ever  afterwards. 
That  Hilyard  did  not  die  from  blood-poisoning  was 
miraculous.  As  it  was  he  hovered  between  life  and 
death  for  a  month,  finally  to  pass  from  the  kindly  care 
of  the  missionaries  so  broken  in  mind  and  body  that  he 
was  never  again  able  to  return  to  his  trading  business. 
The  honest  French  Residente  disposed  of  Hilyard's  in- 
terests for  a  sum  sufficient,  when  placed  in  a  bank  at 


60     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Tahiti,  to  give  the  unlucky  victim  of  love's  madness 
enough  to  live  comfortably  upon,  and  for  the  last  forty 
years  he  has  done  just  that  and  nothing  more,  just 
existed — an  object  of  scorn  to  the  natives  and  of  pity  to 
the  whites — upon  the  "beach"  of  Taio-haie. 

Scenically  the  Marquesas  are  incomparably  more 
beautiful  than  any  of  the  other  island  groups  of  the 
Pacific,  Hawaii  not  excepted.  It  is  usual  to  hear  the 
traveller  who  has  covered  Polynesia  by  the  steamer 
route  speak  in  similar  terms  of  the  Society  Islands— 
especially  Moorea  and  Tahiti — Samoa  and  Fiji,  which- 
ever may  have  chanced  to  tickle  his  fancy,  quite  losing 
sight  of  the  fact  that  the  route  of  his  boat  has  been  laid 
out  along  the  lines  of  commerce  irrespective  of  scenery. 
Not  one  steamer — save  an  occasional  gunboat — goes  to 
the  Marquesas  in  a  decade,  the  mail  of  the  islands  being 
carried  to  and  from  Tahiti  every  three  or  four  months 
in  a  trading  schooner.  In  the  last  twenty  years  scarce 
that  number  of  strangers  have  visited  the  group,  and  a 
dozen  or  more  of  these  came  on  the  only  three  yachts 
that  have  ever  found  their  way  there.  How  little,  there- 
fore, the  average  South  Sea  tourist  really  knows  of  these 
islands  may  readily  be  seen. 

The  rock  walls  and  cliffs  of  Moorea  would  be  lost  in 
the  shadows  of  the  great  4,000-foot  spires  that  tower 
above  the  bay  of  Hatiheu;  the  600-foot  fall  of  Faatua, 
in  Tahiti,  might  be  shut  from  sight  in  the  spray  of  the 
2,000-foot  fall  of  the  Typee  in  Nukahiva ;  and  the  great 
cliff  of  Bora-Bora,  the  creeper-tapestried  walls  of  the 
bay  of  Pago-Pago  and  the  great  gorge  of  the  upper 
Rewa,  in  Fiji,  could  be  hidden  away  in  corners  of  the 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  61 

stupendous  Atouna  valley  of  Hiva-oa  so  effectually  that 
they  would  pass  unnoticed. 

In  the  matter  of  riotous  tropical  growth,  the  Mar- 
quesas, being  nearer  the  Line  than  any  other  of  the 
South  Sea  islands  that  may  lay  claim  to  scenic  beauty, 
have  also  all  the  best  of  the  comparison.  Nukahiva  is 
an  almost  impenetrable  jungle  of  lantana,  burao,  acacia, 
banana,  guava  and  scores  of  other  trees  and  bushes, 
nearly  all  of  them  flowering  and  fruit  bearing.  Indi- 
genous to  the  island  is  the  cassi  plant,  a  thick  shrub 
which  covers  patches  of  the  lower  hills  in  dense  masses 
and  which  blossoms  out  in  tiny  yellow  balls  of  almost 
solid  pollen.  The  latter  has  a  perfume  of  most  pene- 
trating sweetness,  and  in  flowering  time  is  blown  by  the 
Trades  many  leagues  to  the  leeward  of  the  island.  This 
is  the  odour  which  I  mentioned  that  we  noted  in  the  air 
while  the  yacht  was  still  a  hundred  miles  or  more  from 
land.  Beating  into  the  incomparable  bay  of  Hatiheu 
at  night  with  this  perfumed  breeze  sweeping  the  deck, 
the  wake  a  comet  of  golden-green  light  and  the  surf 
bursting  in  vivid  spurts  of  phosphorescence  along  the 
silver-bright  band  of  the  beach,  is  to  anticipate  the  ap- 
proach to  the  mystical  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

At  a  number  of  widely-separated  points  in  the  South 
Pacific — notably  at  Easter  Island,  Tahiti  and  Kusaie, 
of  the  Caroline  group — are  to  be  found  great  images  of 
stone,  the  ruins  of  huge  temples  and  other  evidences  of 
the  existence  of  prehistoric  races  who,  at  least  as  build- 
ers, were  far  in  advance  of  the  Polynesian  of  today. 
French  scientists  had  noted  that  in  the  Marquesas  some 
of  the  abandoned  house-foundations  or  pcd-pais,  con- 


62     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

tained  far  larger  blocks  of  stone  than  any  of  those  of 
later  construction,  but  not  until  very  recently  was  it 
known  that  there  were  works  in  the  group  not  unworthy 
of  comparison  with  the  stone  gods  of  Easter  Island. 

Just  previous  to  our  visit  to  Nukahiva,  our  friend  Mc- 
Grath,  the  trader  of  Hatiheu,  while  following  up  a 
wounded  boar  in  the  Typee  Valley,  chanced  on  an  an- 
cient Marquesan  "Olympus,"  containing  nine  large 
stone  images  in  a  comparatively  good  state  of  preserva- 
tion. Though  this  most  interesting  discovery  lies  within 
300  yards  of  the  main  trail  up  the  Typee  Valley,  no  na- 
tive on  the  island,  either  by  actual  knowledge  or  through 
tradition,  has  been  able  to  shed  light  on  its  origin,  pur- 
pose or  probable  age. 

McGrath  conducted  our  party  to  his  "Goddery,"  as 
he  facetiously  called  it,  when  we  were  crossing  the  island 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Queen  of  Hatiheu,  and  the  several 
films  which  I  exposed  in  a  driving  rainstorm  resulted  in 
what  are  undoubtedly  the  first  photographs  of  these 
strange  Marquesan  images.  The  ancient  shrine — for 
such  it  must  have  been — is  situated  on  a  terrace  in  the 
steeply-sloping  side  hill,  and  though  the  underbrush 
thins  out  somewhat  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  the  over- 
arching bows  of  maupe  and  hau  trees  form  so  dense  a 
screen  that  the  heavens  are  completely  obscured. 
Though  it  was  full  noonday  when  we  visited  the  place, 
the  light — partly,  no  doubt,  on  account  of  the  rain — 
was  as  dim  as  that  of  an  old  cathedral,  and  my  films, 
which  were  exposed  four  minutes  each,  would  have 
turned  out  much  better  with  ten. 

The  images,  which  had  been  set  at  regular  intervals 
around  an  open  stone-paved  court,  were  from  six  to 


'ALL    OF    THE    IMAGES    WERE    COVERED    WITH    MOSS" 


"A.  HARDENED  OLD  OFFENDER  WHO  PREFERRED  WHITE  MAN  TO 
NATIVE  MEAT" 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  63 

eight  feet  in  height  and  averaged  about  three  feet  in 
thickness.  We  estimated  eadh  to  contain  from  forty  to 
sixty  cubic  feet  of  hard  basaltic  stone,  the  weight  of 
which  must  have  been  several  tons.  As  raising  so  great 
a  weight  up  the  sixty  or  seventy  per  cent,  incline  from 
the  valley  would  have  been  almost  impossible,  and  as 
no  outcroppings  of  stone  of  similar  nature  appeared 
nearby,  we  were  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  ma- 
terial for  the  images  must  have  been  quarried  out  at 
some  point  higher  up  the  mountain  and  laboriously  low- 
ered to  the  terrace  prepared  for  them. 

All  of  the  images  were  covered  with  an  inch  or  more 
of  solid  moss,  and  on  one  which  I  photographed  it  was 
necessary  to  scrape  some  of  this  away  to  bring  out  the 
features.  The  figures  were  much  alike  in  design,  and, 
in  a  general  way,  of  a  not  unremote  resemblance  to  the 
Buddhas  of  the  ancient  Javan  temples.  Eleven  of  them 
were  still  in  their  original  positions;  one  was  blocked 
half  way  in  its  fall  by  the  trunk  of  a  hau  tree,  and  one 
was  prostrate  and  overgrown  with  moss  and  creepers. 
A  search  will  undoubtedly  reveal  others  now  entirely 
covered  with  earth  and  undergrowth,  as  there  are  sev- 
eral unoccupied  niches  still  remaining. 

That  this  shrine  is  of  considerable  age  is  evidenced  by 
the  fact  that  a  hau  tree,  three  feet  in  diameter,  has  forced 
apart  the  heavy  paving  stones  and  is  growing  in  the 
middle  of  the  court.  Trees  of  even  greater  size  are 
growing  out  of  the  ruins  of  a  small  nearby  building, 
which  might  once  have  been  the  foundation  of  the  domi- 
cile of  the  attendant  priests.  Some  of  the  roughly 
squared  rocks  in  the  foundation  of  the  shrine  are  approx- 
imately three  by  three  by  ten  feet  in  dimension,  and 


64     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

must  have  taken  a  small  army  of  men  to  move  and  set 
in  place. 

The  Marquesas  are  the  only  islands  of  the  eastern 
groups  of  the  South  Pacific  where  cannibalism  has  not 
long  since  ceased.  This  does  not  mean  that  one  is  likely 
to  be  pounced  on  and  eaten  as  soon  as  he  sets  foot  ashore 
— as  I  must  frankly  admit  we  all  feared  when  we  first 
heard  of  the  fate  of  the  late  pilots  of  Taio-haie — but 
only  that  under  certain  favourable  conditions,  when  there 
is  small  chance  of  its  being  brought  to  the  attention  of 
the  French  authorities,  this  barbarity  is  still  resorted 
to.  The  French  and  the  missionaries  have  been  active 
in  suppressing  cannibalism  and  its  attendant  rites,  but, 
principally  on  account  of  certain  religious  significances 
which  appear  to  attach  to  it,  the  practice  persists  in 
bobbing  up  perennially.  The  dead  in  their  tribal  fights 
are  still  eaten  when  the  opportunity  offers,  but  only  one 
white  man  and  a  Chinaman  (the  two  pilots  were  half- 
castes)  are  known  to  have  been  eaten  in  the  last  decade. 

Accuse  a  Marquesan  of  being  a  cannibal,  and  he  will 
ordinarily  deny  the  soft  impeachment  much  after  the 
manner  of  a  school  girl  taxed  with  being  a  flirt.  Some 
will  brazen  it  out,  however,  and  of  such  was  a  hardened 
old  offender  who  explained  to  the  Lurline  forecastle 
one  night  that,  of  the  various  classes  of  "long-pig,"  he 
preferred  white  man  to  native  because  the  meat  of  the 
latter  was  saltier  and  of  a  more  pronounced  flavour. 
Chinaman  he  had  never  eaten,  he  said,  but — and  here  he 
cast  an  appraising  look  to  where  our  recently  shipped 
cook  was  shuddering  at  the  door  of  the  galley — he  was 
going  to  try  one  at  his  first  opportunity.  The  terrified 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  65 

Si-ah  would  not  even  go  ashore  to  do  the  marketing 
during  the  remainder  of  our  stay  in  Taio-haie. 

The  practice  of  cannibalism  undoubtedly  originated 
in  the  over-populated  days  of  the  island  when,  in  the 
seasons  of  famine,  the  bodies  of  those  killed  in  the  inter- 
tribal raids  were  eaten  by  the  survivors  to  escape  starva- 
tion. Its  survival  into  a  period  when  the  islands  pro- 
duce food  a  thousand-fold  in  excess  of  consumption,  and 
in  the  face  of  the  active  opposition  of  the  French,  can  be 
due  only  to  certain  superstitious  attributes,  such  as  the 
belief  that  the  strength  of  a  dead  foe  enters  into  the  body 
of  him  who  eats  the  flesh. 

Human  flesh  is  eaten  in  the  Marquesas  today  only 
when  the  conditions  are  such  that  the  chances  of  detec- 
tion are  the  slightest,  and  never  under  any  circumstances 
with  the  ceremonies  which  attended  the  rites  of  three  or 
four  decades  ago.  The  "long-pig" — the  polite  euphem- 
ism by  which  man-meat  is  designated — may  be  quietly 
cut  up  and  distributed  among  a  hundred  families  in  a 
half  dozen  different  villages,  each  of  which  will  partake 
of  its  precious  tidbit  in  private  and  strictest  secrecy. 
Again,  the  body  may  be  buried  after  only  a  small  por- 
tion has  been  reserved  for  eating.  Just  previous  to  our 
arrival  in  Nukahiva  a  body  from  which  only  the  hands 
were  missing  was  washed  ashore  at  Anaho  during  a 
heavy  southwester.  Investigation  showed  it  to  be  that 
of  one  Teona,  a  resident  of  Hatiheu,  a  native  who,  three 
days  previously,  had,  according  to  the  story  of  his  com- 
panions, fallen  from  their  canoe  and  been  drowned. 
The  latter,  after  four  days'  confinement  in  a  dark  cell 
at  Taio-haie — the  extremest  torture  to  which  the  super- 


66     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

stitious  Marquesan  may  be  subjected — confessed  that 
they  had  killed  Teona  during  a  coconut  wine  debauch, 
and  after  cutting  off  his  hands  and  eating  them,  had 
weighted  the  body  with  stones  and  dropped  it  out  to 
sea.  They  were  given  the  extreme  penalty — two  weeks' 
confinement  in  the  dark,  to  be  followed  by  a  year  of 
weed-cutting  on  the  village  street.  One  died  of  hys- 
teria before  the  first  week  was  out,  and  the  other,  at  the 
end  of  ten  days,  killed  himself  by  gashing  his  wrist  on 
a  jagged  corner  of  the  sheet  iron  wall  of  his  prison. 

The  Marquesan's  terror  of  the  dark  is  so  extreme  that 
it  is  not  a  rare  thing  for  men,  women  and  children  to  die 
of  fright  during  eclipses.  In  view  of  this,  there  seems 
some  ground  for  the  contention  that  the  French  prac- 
tice of  confining  convicted,  and  occasionally  suspected, 
murderers  and  cannibals  in  windowless  sheet  iron  cells 
is  scarcely  less  barbarous  than  the  crimes  for  which  pun- 
ishment is  being  meted  out. 

The  great  cannibal  feast  grounds  of  Nukahiva  and 
Hiva-oa  are  not  only  not  used  at  the  present  time,  but 
are  even  so  strictly  tabu  that  no  native  can  be  found 
who  will  venture  within  their  forbidden  confines.  Stev- 
enson writes  of  visiting  the  Hatiheu  "high-place"  in 
company  with  a  French  priest  and  a  native  boy;  but  on 
the  occasion  of  our  visit  we  held  out  every  conceivable 
inducement  in  an  endeavour  to  secure  native  guides  to 
the  same  feast-ground,  and  quite  in  vain.  Not  even 
among  the  converts  of  the  Catholic  fathers  could  be 
found  one  who  held  the  tabu  lightly  enough  to  dare  to 
violate  it.  The  best  we  could  do  was  to  persuade  sev- 
eral of  them  to  accompany  us  to  the  line  of  the  tabu, 
and  there  to  await  our  return,  while  we  went  over  the 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  67 

ruins  with  McGrath.  The  following  description  is  from 
notes  taken  by  Claribel  on  this  occasion,  and  subse- 
quently amplified  under  the  direction  of  McGrath,  who, 
in  the  fifteen  years  he  has  maintained  a  trading  store  at 
Hatiheu,  has  missed  no  opportunity  to  push  enquiries 
amongst  the  older  natives  regarding  what  is  unquestion- 
ably the  most  interesting  ruin  of  its  kind  in  the  South 
Pacific : 

"On  the  seaward  side  of  a  spur  of  the  mountain  a  level 
space,  oval  in  general  shape,  had  been  partly  excavated, 
partly  built  up,  so  that  there  was  a  smooth  floor  about 
300  feet  long  by  200  feet  wide.  In  a  semi-circle,  with 
the  chief's  house  in  the  centre,  were  the  little  ^east- 
houses'  of  the  court  dignitaries  and  the  special  guests. 
Beneath  the  posts  of  each  house  excavations  have  dis- 
closed a  number  of  human  bones  which  bear  witness  to 
the  sacrifice  which  accompanied  the  setting  of  every 
pillar.  In  these  little  booths  the  guests  remained  dur- 
ing the  feasts,  some  of  which,  when  food  was  plenty 
or  some  especially  great  event  was  to  be  celebrated, 
lasted  over  a  week.  Each  guest  brought  some  contri- 
bution to  the  feast,  and  when  it  was  over  he  was  priv- 
ileged to  gather  up  and  carry  home  any  fragments  that 
he  liked. 

"The  'dining-room'  was  the  space  in  front  of  the 
houses,  and  there,  spread  on  the  huge  leaves  of  the 
banana  and  taro,  the  feast  was  laid.  Meat  was  handled 
with  big  four-tined  forks  of  wood;  poi  and  other  soft 
dishes  in  calabashes  of  coco  shell  and  shallow  wooden 
platters.  The  drinking  cups,  in  which  were  served  a 
fiery  wine  made  from  the  juice  of  the  tender  shoots  of 
the  coconut,  were  the  hollow  shells  of  nuts.  The  food, 


68     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

in  addition  to  human  flesh  or  'long-pig,'  included  the 
meat  of  the  wild  cattle,  goats  and  pigs,  roasted,  boiled, 
fried  and  salted  raw,  and  served  with  miti-hari,  a  most 
piquant  sauce  still  in  use  and  which  is  composed  of  a 
mixture  of  lime  juice  and  the  pressed-out  milk  of  grated 
coconuts.  Bananas  and  plantains,  cooked  and  un- 
cooked, were  served;  also  taro  in  balls  which  looked  like 
mud  and  tasted  like  sago  and  brown  sugar ;  breadfruit, 
avocados,  seaweed,  squid,  prawns  and  shrimps  and  an 
endless  variety  of  indigenous  tropical  fruits. 

"The  general  plan  of  the  place  was,  roughly,  as  fol- 
lows :  Beginning  at  the  right  and  running  in  a  seaward 
direction,  there  was  first  the  private  stairway  for  an  offi- 
cial who  might  be  designated  as  the  Captain  of  the 
Guard,  a  curving  four-foot  passage,  the  steps  of  which 
were  cut  into  the  earth  and  faced  with  stones.  This 
stairway  led  up  to  the  box  where  the  Captain  presided 
during  the  festivities,  and  was  for  his  private  use.  Next 
came  the  main  approach  to  the  feast  level,  a  stairway 
two  paces  in  width,  terminating  between  two  round 
towers  in  which  soldiers  with  clubs  were  stationed  to 
welcome  bona  fide  guests  and  intercept  intruders.  A 
functionary  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  greeted 
each  guest  on  his  arrival  with  a  loud  shout  of  welcome 
and  a  blast  from  a  pao  or  conch  trumpet,  announcing 
him  immediately  afterwards  to  the  company  with  a  flow- 
ery recital  of  his  personal  career. 

"Farther  on  was  the  stairway  for  the  cooks,  provision 
bearers  and  the  human  victims.  This  led  to  the 
'kitchen,'  where  the  firestones  and  chopping  blocks  were 
located.  The  firestones  lined  a  circular  depression  in 
the  earth,  and  after  this  had  been  thoroughly  heated,  the 


THE    BEST   SURVIVING   EXAMPLE    OF    MARQUESAN    TATTOOING 


'INTO    IT    WERE    THROWN    THE    BONES    OF    THE    VICTIMS    AFTER 
THE    FEAST    WAS   OVER" 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  69 

meat  and  fruit,  all  wrapped  in  ti  leaves,  were  laid  so- 
ciably together  to  cook.  The  blackened  stones  of  this 
old  cannibal  oven  are  still  in  place,  and  a  half -hour's 
work  with  an  ax  and  cutlass  would  put  it  in  shape  for 
service. 

"Back  of  the  kitchen  was  the  'larder,'  a  round,  deep 
hole  where  the  'long-pig'  was  kept  until  ready  for  the 
oven.  Directly  over  the  mouth  of  this  hole,  and  about 
forty  feet  above  it,  was  the  horizontally  projecting  limb 
of  the  sacred  banyan,  the  only  tree,  by  the  way,  which 
was  permitted  to  grow  within  the  walls.  Over  this  limb 
hung  a  stout  rope  braided  of  the  fibrous  bark  of  the 
hau  tree.  When  the  call  for  more  meat  came  from  the 
'kitchen,'  the  noosed  end  of  this  rope  was  lowered  over 
the  head  of  the  victim  next  in  order,  and  he  was  pushed 
over  the  brink  of  the  hole,  the  fall  usually  breaking  his 
neck.  Dismemberment,  according  to  prescribed  rules, 
followed,  the  choice  bits,  such  as  the  hands  and  eyes  and 
ears,  being  laid  aside  for  the  chiefs. 

"Beyond  the  oven,  and  not  far  from  the  chief's  house, 
was  what  might  be  called  the  'bone-hole,'  a  rock-lined, 
well-like  sort  of  an  affair  about  nine  feet  in  diameter  and 
twenty  feet  deep.  Into  it  were  thrown  the  bones  of  the 
victims  after  the  feast  was  over,  and  above  these  grue- 
some remnants  the  priests  performed  certain  ceremonies 
calculated  to  protect  the  living  from  the  spirits  of  the 
outraged  dead.  Cutting  around  the  rim  of  this  hole 
with  our  cutlasses,  we  managed,  after  an  hour  of  tug- 
ging and  hauling,  to  dislodge  and  remove  a  great  mass 
of  creepers,  disclosing  a  huge  pile  of  human  bones.  A 
couple  of  pieces  of  mahogany,  which  must  have  been 
taken  from  some  ship,  were  lying  near  the  top  of  the 


70     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

heap,  and  led  us  to  wonder  how  many  of  the  bones 
mouldering  in  the  pile  beneath  were  those  of  white  men. 

"After  the  keen  edges  of  their  appetites  had  worn  off, 
the  f casters  adjourned  to  the  'dance  hall,'  a  rectangular 
subterranean  chamber  of  about  thirty  by  fifty  feet.  The 
most  of  this  great  room  was  a  natural  cave  which  pierced 
the  mountain  immediately  under  the  feast  ground,  but 
to  seaward  a  considerable  extension  of  masonry  had 
been  added  to  give  more  space.  The  latter  had  been 
destroyed  in  a  freshet  and  hurricane  which  occurred 
about  two  years  previous  to  our  visit,  but  the  cave  por- 
tion was  still  in  a  fair  state  of  preservation.  This  had 
been  roughly  squared  with  walls  of  fitted  boulders,  and 
off  from  it  opened  numerous  little  retiring  rooms  which 
connected  with  private  stairways  with  the  group  of 
guest-houses  above.  The  floor  of  this  chamber  was 
covered  with  a  cement  made  of  coral  lime  and  a  putty- 
like  clay,  and  still  remains  as  smooth  and  hard  as  con- 
crete. 

"The  hall  was  lighted  with  torches  of  kukui  nuts,  the 
sooty  stains  of  which  on  the  walls  the  seepages  of  years 
have  not  entirely  effaced.  Fantastic  indeed  must  have 
been  the  barbaric  assemblage  as  revealed  in  their  flicker- 
ing light :  the  hideously  tattooed  dancers  in  head-dresses 
fashioned  in  imitation  of  the  forms  of  birds  and  animals 
and  fishes ;  the  musicians  drumming  on  the  hollow  trunks 
of  burao  and  hau,  shaking  shell  and  bone  rattles,  toot- 
ing conches  and  blowing  shrill  cane  whistles;  the  packed 
ranks  of  the  spectators,  shouting  and  clapping  encour- 
agement and  tossing  off  epu  after  epu  of  the  fiery  coco- 
nut wine.  Hour  after  hour  the  dancers  reeled  in  the 
delirious  abandon  of  the  Marquesan  hula;  now  gliding, 


THE  MARQUESAS  TODAY  71 

with  a  sinuous,  snaky  motion,  their  oil-glistening  bodies 
bent  almost  to  the  floor ;  now  leaping  wildly  into  the  air, 
with  shouts  and  shrill  screams,  lunging  with  their  war 
clubs  at  imaginary  foes ;  now  seated  on  long  woven  mats 
of  pandanus  fibre  before  the  dais  where  royalty  reclined, 
bending  and  swaying  their  supple  forms  in  a  series  of 
graceful,  rhythmic  motions,  accompanied  only  by  a  song, 
the  clappings  of  hands  or  the  beating  of  the  wooden 
drums.  The  boom  of  the  drums,  the  shrilling  of  the 
whistles,  the  shouts  of  the  spectators,  the  shrieks  of  the 
dancers  and  the  swishings  of  their  bare  feet  upon  the 
floor — how  it  all  must  have  stirred  and  amazed  even 
those  roistering  old  pirate  and  whaling  captains  when  it 
struck  upon  their  ears  for  the  first  time!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

HUNTING   IN   THE   MARQUESAS 

THE  French  have  never  actually  prohibited  the  carry- 
ing of  arms  in  the  Marquesas,  as  have  the  British  in  the 
Solomons;  but  the  possession  and  use  of  guns  has  been 
so  hedged  about  with  restrictions  as  practically  to  ac- 
complish the  same  purpose.  This  is  about  the  way  it 
goes :  Coming  to  the  islands  with  a  gun,  a  permit  must 
first  be  secured  before  it  may  be  landed.  This  allows 
you  to  take  it  to  your  domicile  but  not  to  take  it  out 
again.  If  you  would  carry  it  with  you  on  the  street,  a 
"Port  des  Armes"  is  required,  which  allows  you,  how- 
ever, to  fire  it  only  in  your  own  backyard,  and  when  that 
sanctum  is  enclosed  with  a  metre-high  stone  wall.  If 
you  desire  to  fire  it  anywhere  else,  a  "Permit  de  Chasse" 
must  be  obtained.  Finally,  if  you  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  possession  of  a  gun  in  the  Marquesas  im- 
poses too  many  burdens,  and  decide  to  dispose  of  it,  a 
permit  to  sell  is  required ;  and  if,  later,  you  regret  your 
action  and  want  to  get  it  back  again,  a  permit  to  pur- 
chase will  have  to  be  taken  out  before  the  deal  can  be 
consummated.  Each  of  these  permits  costs  a  good,  stiff 
fee,  and  it  is  largely  this  which  is  responsible  for  the  fact 
that  the  Marquesan  native  hunts  today  much  after  the 
fashion  of  ancient  times — with  his  wits  and  his  hands. 
A  hunt  of  this  kind  comes  nearer  being  real  sport — that 
is,  of  giving  the  quarry  as  good  a  chance  to  take  the 

72 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       73 

hunter's  life  as  the  latter  has  to  take  that  of  the  quarry 
—than  any  form  of  the  chase  since  the  days  of  the  trog- 
lodytes, and  lucky  indeed  may  the  white  man  esteem 
himself  who  is  allowed  to  join  one  of  them.  I  elimi- 
nated a  good  deal  of  the  sporting  element  on  both  the 
occasions  on  which  I  went  out  by  carrying,  and  using, 
a  rifle  or  revolver,  but  as  neither  of  these  weapons — 
through  no  fault  of  mine,  however — figured  seriously  in 
the  final  denouements,  I  shall  always  tell  myself  that  for 
once  in  my  life  at  least,  I  have  seen  real  hunting — hunt- 
ing in  which  the  hunter  has  a  legitimate  right  to  be  proud 
of  the  game  he  brings  to  earth.  But  first  something  of 
a  form  of  Marquesan  hunting  which — largely  because 
the  white  man  with  his  modern  weapons  enters  into  it — 
is  as  shameless  as  the  old  native  "cave-man"  method  is 
admirable. 

One  may  hunt  wild  cattle,  wild  boar  and  wild  goats  in 
the  Marquesas,  but  the  pursuit  of  the  latter,  however 
one  goes  at  it,  is  not  worthy  of  the  name  of  sport.  Un- 
like the  mountain  goat  of  the  Cascades  and  the  Cana- 
dian Rockies,  the  Marquesan  animal  of  that  name  is 
neither  hard  to  find  nor  hard  to  kill;  so  that  if  one  goes 
out  after  him  with  an  intelligent  guide  it  is  usually  a 
matter  of  doing  a  lot  of  shooting  at  easy  range  and  let- 
ting the  natives  gather  up  and  bring  in  the  meat.  It 
is  about  comparable  on  the  score  of  excitement  to  shoot- 
ing seals  in  their  rookeries  or  starving  cariboo  in  the 
Arctic.  Goat-hunting  with  beaters,  as  it  is  done  in 
Nukahiva,  cannot  be  complained  of  on  the  score  of  Black- 
ing excitement,  but,  on  account  of  the  unspeakable  'Bar- 
barity of  its  inevitable  sequel,  is  not  to  be  contemplated 
without  a  shudder,  even  when  the  drive  is  undertaken — 


74     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

as  it  often  is — to  exterminate  animals  that  have  been 
ravaging  the  village  gardens. 

I  had  heard  in  Hawaii  that  a  goat-drive,  next  to  a 
cannibal  feast,  was  the  greatest  attraction  the  Marquesas 
had  to  offer,  and  one  of  the  first  inquiries  I  made  after 
my  "battery"  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  French  official- 
dom was  regarding  the  chances  for  arranging  one.  The 
Residente  promised  at  once  to  lend  aid  in  the  form  of  all 
the  prisoners  in  the  island  jail  to  act  as  beaters,  saying 
that  the  goats  had  become  very  numerous  and  trouble- 
some since  the  last  drive  and  that  he  would  be  glad  in- 
deed of  a  chance  to  get  rid  of  a  few  of  them ;  but  when 
I  broached  the  subject  to  the  trader,  McGrath,  who  had 
already  become  our  court  of  first  and  last  instance  in 
the  filling  up  of  the  program  for  our  Marquesan  stay, 
he  frowned  and  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"If  you're  half  the  sportsman  I  take  you  for  you 
would  be  sorry  for  it,"  he  said.  "You  wouldn't  engage 
in  one  of  your  California  rabbit  drives  for  sport,  would 
you?  No.  Well,  a  Marquesan  goat  drive  is  just  about 
like  one  of  those — and  then  some.  I'll  have  to  tell  you 
about  the  first  one  I  took  part  in,  I  think,  and  then  if 
you  still  feel  that  you  want  to  go  ahead  we  will  see  what 
can  be  done." 

We  drew  out  a  couple  of  canvas  deck  chairs  to  a 
breeze-swept  corner  of  the  front  veranda  of  Cramer's 
trading  store,  where  McGrath,  sipping  now  and  then 
at  the  long  glass  of  absinthe  and  water  which  is  the 
approved  drink  in  that  corner  of  the  Pacific,  told  his 
story. 

"Up  at  the  top  of  that  cliff — it's  a  thousand  feet  in 
the  sheer" — he  began,  pointing  to  a  towering  basaltic 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       75 

buttress  that  reared  its  black  bulk  abruptly  from  the 
northern  loop  of  the  bay,  "there  is  a  narrow  but  fairly 
level  and  open  table-land.  The  opposite  side  drops 
down  to  Typee  Inlet  in  the  same  way,  and  you  will 
remember  how  it  tapers  off  to  a  knife-edge  at  the  outer 
point.  The  objective  of  every  goat-drive  is  the  open 
space  upon  that  point,  for  from  it  there  is  no  escape 
save  across  the  narrow  landward  neck  which  is  held  by 
the  beaters  and  hunters.  There  is  another  escape,  if 
you  want  to  call  it  that.  Imagine  an  almost  solid  stream 
of  white  furry  patches,  five  hundred  feet  wide,  rushing 
out  over  the  edge  of  that  table-land  there  and  falling 
down  the  face  of  the  cliff  like  a  cataract  in  flood;  and 
then  imagine — but  I  anticipate. 

"The  goats  were  particularly  active  when  I  first  came 
to  Nukahiva — I  was  a  missionary  then,  and  lived  here 
in  Taio-haie — and  one  night  they  brought  their  depreda- 
tions to  a  climax  by  tramping  down  the  thorn  fence  of 
the  Residency  garden  and  making  a  clean  sweep  of  all 
the  vegetables.  How  much  of  a  luxury  truck  garden 
stuff  is  upon  a  tropical  -island  unserved  by  steamers 
and  totally  lacking  in  cold  storage  facilities,  only  one 
who  has  lived  under  such  conditions  can  appreciate. 
Probably  you're  beginning  to  come  to  some  apprecia- 
tion of  it  already.  The  Residente  was,  naturally,  furi- 
ous over  his  loss,  and  plans  were  set  afoot  that  after- 
noon for  a  big  drive  to  rid  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
as  many  as  possible  of  the  obnoxious  animals.  I  didn't 
know  what  a  Marquesan  goat-drive  was  then,  and  read- 
ily consented  to  take  part. 

"On  the  morrow  at  daybreak,  mustering  between  offi- 
cials, soldiers,  trading  store  employes  and  officers  from 


76     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

schooners  in  the  harbour,  ten  or  a  dozen  mounted  men, 
and  between  the  "trusties"  from  the  prison  and  other 
natives  drawn  in  by  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  fresh 
meat,  fifty  or  sixty  beaters,  we  set  out  in  a  long  line 
that  reached  from  sea  to  sea  across  the  landward  end  of 
the  peninsula. 

"All  morning  we  scared  up  the  frightened  animals 
and  drove  them  on  before  us  until,  at  noon,  we  had  a 
herd  that  must  have  numbered  some  thousands  cornered 
upon  the  open  table-land  at  the  extremity  of  the  point. 
On  three  sides  of  the  heaving  mass  of  white  the  cliffs 
fell  sheer  to  the  sea  for  a  thousand  feet,  while  to  land- 
ward escape  was  cut  off  by  the  hunt,  its  armed  riders 
drawn  up  in  front,  and  the  beaters,  now  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  bringing  up  the  rear  in  a  solid  double  line. 

"Twice  the  terrified  band,  led  by  a  squad  of  patri- 
archal old  'billies,'  charged  down  upon  us  in  a  wild  break 
for  freedom,  only  to  fall  back  each  time  before  the  rain 
of  bullets  and  the  deafening  roar  from  the  hard-pumped 
repeaters  and  automatics.  Even  once  more  they  massed 
and,  blindly,  desperately,  madly,  made  their  last  rush 
to  break  our  lines.  Falling  by  scores,  they  still  braved 
the  rifle  fire  until  the  last  gun  was  empty,  broke  through 
between  the  horsemen  and,  but  for  the  close-packed 
ranks  of  the  beaters,  would  have  gained  their  freedom 
in  thousands  instead  of  a  few  scattered  twos  and  threes. 

"But  the  heavily-swung  war  clubs  and  the  ear-split- 
ting yells  of  the  natives  checked  the  force  of  the  rush,  and 
suddenly,  as  though  simultaneously  possessed  of  a  com- 
mon impulse,  every  one  of  the  survivors  turned,  rushed 
to  the  edge  of  that  great  black  cliff  yonder,  and  went 
lunging  off  into  space.  For  a  few  moments,  rising 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       77 

above  the  dull  roar  of  the  surf  against  the  base  of  the 
cliff,  we  heard  the  thud  and  splash  of  the  bodies  striking 
rocks  and  water,  and  then,  save  for  the  bleating  of  the 
wounded  at  our  feet,  all  was  quiet.  Not  a  goat  had 
faltered ;  not  an  unhurt  animal  remained  on  the  plateau. 

"For  several  long  moments  no  one  moved  or  spoke, 
but  each,  with  his  horse  reined  sharply  in,  glanced  guilt- 
ily at  the  man  on  his  left  and  on  his  right,  and  then  let 
his  eyes  fall  shamedly  to  the  ground.  Even  the  natives 
were  awed  and  silent.  Finally  the  Residente,  shaking 
his  heavy  shoulders  like  one  who  would  rid  himself  of 
the  effects  of  a  bad  dream,  dismounted,  gave  his  horse 
to  a  native,  and  picked  his  way  out  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  the  rest  of  us  following  suit.  And  then  it  was  that 
we  were  given  to  see  the  full  enormity  of  the  thing  which 
we  had  done,  for  the  horror  that  had  already  befallen 
was  only  the  preliminary  of  a  still  grimer  tragedy,  for 
the  final  act  of  which  the  curtain  was  just  being  rung  up. 

"Lucky  indeed — as  luck  went  that  day — were  the 
goats  that  had  been  killed  on  the  plateau  or  had  merci- 
fully plunged  to  instant  death  on  the  rocks.  Many  of 
the  animals,  due  to  their  falls  having  been  broken  by 
striking  the  yielding  mass  formed  by  the  bodies  of  their 
mates,  were  still  alive,  and  for  the  hundreds  of  these 
that  were  floundering  in  the  water  a  worse  fate  was  re- 
served. The  reek  of  blood  which  welled  up  from  below, 
and  the  piteous  bleats  that  assailed  our  ears,  smote  also 
on  keener  senses  than  our  own,  and  at  even  our  first 
glance  there  were  revealed  to  us  the  black  dorsals  of 
countless  lurking  tiger  sharks,  cutting  the  water  from 
every  direction  and  converging  in  a  deadly  focus  on  the 
spot  where  the  helpless  little  wisps  of  white  were  float- 


78     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ing  at  their  mercy.  They  came  and  came,  and  still  kept 
coming,  until  it  seemed  that  the  whole  Pacific  was  giv- 
ing up  the  sharks  of  the  ages  gone  by  to  join  in  the 
bloody  carnival.  The  sea  along  the  foreshore  for  hun- 
dreds of  yards  was  literally  alive  with  great  brown- 
black  forms  that  slashed  and  fought  and  piled  upon  one 
another  in  frantic  fury,  while  the  water,  five  minutes 
before  us  limpid  as  a  woodland  pool,  was  dyed  to  a  deep 
crimson,  and  its  foam-lines  in  the  eddies  frothed  up  a 
ghastly  pink.  I  have  surveyed  the  remains  of  several 
cannibal  feasts  since  that  sickening  noontide  at  the  brink 
of  that  great  cliff,  but  never  again  have  I  known  any- 
thing to  approach  the  overpowering  feeling  of  mingled 
horror,  awe,  disgust  and  regret  that  I  then  expe- 
rienced." 

McGrath  straightened  up  with  a  long  breath  and 
gulped  the  last  of  his  glass  of  absinthe  and  water. 

"Thus  my  first  goat-drive,"  he  concluded;  "and  thus 
are  the  goat-drives  of  today.  It's  just  as  well  you 
should  know  what  they  are  beforehand,  for,  if  you're 
anything  like  me,  you  would  never  forgive  yourself  for 
getting  drawn  into  one.  However,  goat-driving  doesn't 
exhaust  the  possibilities  of  Nukahiva  by  any  means.  I 
shall  be  able  to  arrange  a  pig  hunt  for  tomorrow  or  next 
day  without  any  trouble,  I  think,  and,  if  there  is  any 
way  of  getting  the  natives  keyed  up  to  it,  I  will  get 
them  to  take  you  out  after  a  wild  bull  before  you  go. 
You'll  see  something  you  never  saw  before  in  either 


case." 


It  may  be  largely  coincidence,  but  it  is  a  fact  at  any 
rate,  that  in  nearly  every  place  in  the  world  where  the 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       79 

wild  pig  is  found  it  is  not  considered  quite  the  sporting 
thing  to  hunt  it  with  guns.  There  is  no  hard  and  fast 
rule  against  it,  of  course,  but  in  these  places  shooting  a 
wild  boar,  except  as  a  dernier  ressort,  is  considered  about 
on  a  par  with  potting  ducks  or  pheasant.  Thus,  in  Ger- 
many, Austria  and  the  Balkans  it  is  customary  for  the 
keenest  sportsman  still  to  take  his  chance  with  a  boar 
on  foot,  and  armed  only  with  a  spear ;  in  India  the  Brit- 
ish army  officers  ride  that  animal  down  in  the  jungle 
and  dispatch  it  with  a  short  lance,  and  in  Africa  the 
sporting  thing  to  do  is  for  the  hunter  to  endeavour  to 
give  the  coup  de  grace  with  a  native  assegai.  In  North 
America,  for  some  reason,  this  custom  is  honoured  only 
in  the  breach,  and  the  Texas  peccary  and  the  Mexican 
javelin — neither  of  which  is  much  more  than  an  over- 
sized razor-back  hog — are  dispatched  on  sight  with  rifle 
and  shotgun. 

Boar -hunting  with  a  spear  or  assegai, — or  even  ac- 
cording to  the  Indian  practice  of  killing  from  the  saddle, 
which  requires  the  greatest  steadiness  of  seat,  hand  and 
nerve, — are  certainly  not  open  to  criticism  on  the  ground 
of  being  un-sporting;  but  the  Marquesan  native,  in  at- 
tacking the  boar  of  his  islands  with  a  two-foot  cutlass 
or  machete,  which  has  been  made  for  slashing  under- 
brush and  opening  coconuts — for  cutting,  not  thrusting 
— unquestionably  goes  all  of  them  one  better  on  the  score 
of  taking  chances,  for  he  works  literally  at  arm's  length 
and  with  his  body  unprotected  even  by  the  lightest  of 
clothes. 

A  Marquesan  boar  hunt,  with  no  other  weapons  than 
knives  or  cutlasses,  is  as  exciting  and  hazardous  an  un- 
dertaking as  the  most  adventurous  can  desire.  The 


80     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

pigs  are  scared  up  in  the  bush  by  dogs  and  men,  headed 
off  in  their  flight  along  the  narrow  run-ways  in  the 
guava  scrub,  and  dispatched  by  a  knife-thrust  between 
the  base  of  the  neck  and  the  shoulder.  Killing  a  large 
boar  in  this  manner  is  an  extremely  nice  piece  of  work, 
as  a  difference  of  an  inch  to  the  right  or  the  left  in 
plunging  the  knife  means  that  the  thrust  will  be  almost 
harmless  and  leaves  the  hunter  open  to  the  deadly  sweep 
of  one  of  the  scimitar-like  tusks  of  the  powerful  animal. 
The  commonest  scar  one  sees  on  the  body  of  a  Mar- 
quesan  is  a  long  diagonal  welt  of  white  where  the  flesh 
of  calf  or  thigh  has  been  laid  open  to  the  bone  by  the 
tusk  of  a  charging  boar.  If,  as  occasionally  happens 
when  the  boar  is  a  large  one,  the  slash  is  across  the  abdo- 
men, the  hunter  rarely  survives  to  bear  the  scar. 

McGrath  was  as  good  as  his  word  in  the  matter  of 
arranging  the  pig  hunt  he  had  promised,  but  unfortu- 
nately, through  being  called  to  Hatiheu  to  look  after  the 
loading  of  one  of  his  schooners,  was  unable  to  go  along 
himself. 

"Be  content  to  remain  a  spectator,"  was  his  parting 
injunction;  "and  don't  think  because  it  looks  easy  for  a 
native  to  drop  a  charging  boar  with  a  cutlass  and  a  twist 
of  the  wrist  that  you  can  do  it  yourself.  That  was  the 
way  I  got  this  limp  of  mine — it  comes  from  a  tendon 
that  was  cut  by  a  side-swipe  from  a  tusk  of  the  first — 
and  the  last — boar  I  ever  tried  to  stick.  Best  take  your 
six-shooter  along,  but  don't  use  it  unless  you  have  to. 
It  might  serve  to  turn  a  boar  that  was  charging  you ;  but 
it  also  might  make  one  that  was  running  away  swing 
around  and  come  back.  There  are  only  two  or  three 
small  spots  on  a  wild  pig  in  which  a  pistol  bullet — or  a 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       81 

half  dozen  of  them,  for  that  matter — will  prove  fatal, 
and  these  you  would  hardly  be  able  to  locate  with  the 
animal  at  a  run." 

McGrath  laid  special  stress  on  my  adhering  to  the 
spectator  role,  and  I  set  out  with  that  injunction  firmly 
impressed  on  my  mind.  But  the  sticking  trick  looked 
so  ridiculously  easy  after  I  had  seen  it  performed  once 
or  twice  that  it  was  not  long  before  I  began  to  tell  my- 
self that  it  was  a  case  of  "once  bitten,  twice  shy"  with 
my  trader  friend,  and  that  he  had  probably  lost  his  nerve 
on  account  of  his  unpropitious  initial  experience.  And 
so  it  chanced — but  I  had  best  tell  something  of  the  way 
of  a  Marquesan  with  a  pig  before  obtruding  my  own 
troubles. 

We  set  out  from  Taio-haie  on  foot  in  the  first  flush  of 
a  heliotrope  and  daffodil  sunrise — a  dozen  or  more  na- 
tives, about  twice  that  number  of  dogs,  and  myself — 
followed  the  Typee  trail  for  a  mile  up  the  mountain 
through  the  endless  ruins  of  the  old  Marquesan  vil- 
lages, finally  to  branch  off  by  a  barely  discernible  foot 
path  into  the  veritable  carpet  of  low  scrub  which  belts 
the  island  at  the  500-foot  level.  Guava  and  lantana  it 
was  for  the  most  part,  the  former  heavy  with  lucious 
yellow-red  fruit  and  the  latter  bright  with  tiny  golden 
flowers.  As  we  fared  farther  from  the  main  travelled 
trail,  dim  runways  through  the  bush  began  to  appear, 
and  these,  gradually  converging  as  they  led  down  toward 
the  neck  of  a  rolling  little  valley  which  opened  up  beyond 
a  sharp  ridge  we  had  crossed,  formed  a  narrow  but  well 
marked  path. 

Four  of  the  natives  and  I  headed  for  a  point  where 
two  jutting  walls  of  rock  formed  a  natural  gateway, 


82     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

which  was  scarcely  a  dozen  feet  wide  between  the  cliffs 
and  choked  with  several  giant  trees  and  a  maze  of  lianas 
and  brush.  Through  this  opening  ran  the  runway  we 
were  following,  the  only  path  by  which  pigs  going  back 
and  forth  between  the  upper  and  lower  valley  could  pass. 
The  others,  with  the  dogs  still  held  in  leash  by  strands  of 
light  liana,  circled  to  the  upper  hills  preliminary  to 
swinging  around  and  beating  back  down  the  valley.  I 
was  led,  gently  but  firmly,  up  to  a  natural  "grandstand" 
in  the  angle  of  the  buttressed  roots  of  a  big  maupe  tree, 
one  of  the  natives — a  servant  of  McGrath's  who  was  evi- 
dently acting  under  orders — stopping  alongside  in  case 
I  showed  a  disposition  to  "stray."  My  three  other  com- 
panions— strapping  bronze  giants  with  the  muscles  of 
gladiators — took  their  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  run- 
way. One  behind  the  other,  at  ten  or  twelve-foot  inter- 
vals, they  lined  up — there  was  no  chance  in  the  narrow, 
bush-walled  passage  for  anything  in  the  nature  of  a 
three-abreast,  Horatius-at-the-Bridge  formation — each 
with  his  cutlass  hand  resting  lightly  on  his  hip,  like  a 
fencer  standing  at  ease.  Cool,  alert,  ready,  they  waited, 
three  living,  breathing  incarnations  of  deadly  efficiency. 
So  had  I  seen  a  puma  waiting,  patiently  tense,  upon  the 
limb  of  a  tree  above  a  path  where  deer  were  wont  to 
come  on  their  way  to  water ;  so  have  I  since  seen  sharks 
lurking  in  quivering  readiness  among  the  coral  spines 
where  ventured  the  divers  for  pearls. 

Ten  minutes  passed,  in  which  occasional  stifled  yelps, 
now  from  this  side,  now  from  that,  told  that  the  dogs, 
still  in  leash,  were  being  spread  out  as  quietly  as  possible 
across  the  upper  valley.  Only  occasional  sharp  crashes 
in  the  scrub  gave  evidence  of  an  increasing  current  of 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       83 

uneasiness  among  the  pigs.  Tebu,  who  stood  at  "Num- 
ber 1,"  broke  into  a  low  crooning  chant,  with  a  throaty 
kluck  and  a  queer  chesty  roll  to  it,  which  my  "guard" 
translated  as  an  invitation  to  the  pigs  to  come  down  and 
join  our  party.  Presently  the  other  two  natives  took  up 
the  air,  the  three  of  them  swaying  gently  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  barbaric  chant. 

The  dogs  appeared  to  have  been  released  upon  a  pre- 
concerted signal,  for  their  choruses  of  baying  broke  out 
all  the  way  across  the  valley  at  the  same  time,  accom- 
panied by  the  ringing  shouts  of  the  men  and  the  shrill 
ululations  of  a  bevy  of  women  and  girls  who  had  trailed 
along  after  us  and  had  now  joined  the  hunt. 

Tebu  hushed  his  singing  and  froze  to  attention  as  the 
underbrush  began  to  crackle,  and  I  knew  by  the  flash 
of  blood-lust  in  his  eyes  the  instant  he  sighted  the  first 
pig.  This  animal,  which  was  startled  but  not  aroused, 
lunged  back  into  the  scrub  before  he  reached  the  "gate- 
way," and  two  or  three  other  half-hearted  mavericks  did 
likewise  before  one  arrived  on  the  scene  who  really  had 
his  mind  made  up  about  going  through  to  the  lower 
valley.  Singleness  of  purpose  showed  in  every  line  of 
the  flying  black  mass  that  came  dashing  down  the  run- 
way and  headed  straight  for  the  "gate."  Possibly  the 
fear  of  the  dogs  was  in  his  heart,  but  he  looked  more 
mad  than  frightened  as,  without  a  pause  or  a  side-glance 
of  indecision,  he  hurled  himself  upon  the  motionless 
bronze  figure  that  blocked  the  way.  On  he  came,  like  a 
bull  at  a  gate,  and  even  as  I  gasped  to  myself  that  a 
regiment  of  soldiers  couldn't  block  his  flight,  he  dashed 
against  the  lone  human  barrier  and  the  miracle  was 
enacted.  The  impassive  giant  hardly  seemed  to  move. 


84     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

There  was  sharp  tensing  of  the  powerful  frame,  a 
flash  of  sunlight  glinting  across  the  golden  muscles,  a 
quick  movement  of  the  wrist  that  might  almost  have 
been  a  caress — and  the  flying  mass  of  bone  and  sinew 
was  quivering  at  the  gladiator's  feet.  There  was  not  a 
squeal  or  a  kick.  It  was  almost  as  though  the  bronze 
Titan  had  waved  his  hand  and  muttered  "Alive !  Dead ! 
Presto!  Change!"  and  that  thus  it  had  come  to  pass. 
The  swift  transition  from  life  to  death  reminded  me  of 
the  wilting  of  a  steer  under  the  touch  of  the  "killer"  in 
an  Uruguayan  matadero,,  where  they  slay  by  severing 
the  spinal  cord  at  the  base  of  the  horns  with  a  knife 
thrust.  But  there  the  twinkle  of  the  wrist  snuffed  the 
life  spark  in  the  body  of  a  passive  animal,  while  here  the 
same  easy,  effortless  movement  had  smothered  it  while 
it  flared  at  full  power  in  a  quarter  of  a  ton  of  flying  flesh 
and  bone  that  was  itself  a  Bolt  of  Death. 

Another  and  yet  another  charging  monster  was 
crumpled  to  earth  while  I  was  still  lost  in  speculation 
respecting  the  manner  of  the  passing  of  the  first,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  fourth  or  fifth  fugitive  appeared  that  I 
gathered  my  wits  together  for  a  dispassionate  study  of 
the  way  the  wonder  was  wrought.  Then  I  quickly  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  the  almost  absolute  "even- 
ness" of  the  charge  that  made  the  thing  possible  at  all. 
The  surface  of  the  runway  was  smooth  and  sloped  but 
slightly,  while  its  narrowness  and  straightness  at  the 
"gate"  held  the  pig  to  an  undeviating  course  whether  he 
wished  it  or  not.  Though  he  came  at  a  great  speed,  the 
huge  body  advanced  almost  as  evenly  as  though  running 
on  a  track,  making  it  possible  for  a  man  with  a  steady 
hand  and  nerve  to  locate  to  a  nicety  that  little  three- 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       85 

inch-wide  spot  between  the  neck  and  shoulder  where  the 
point  of  knife  must  enter  to  be  effective.  That  vulner- 
able point  would  be  covered  by  the  upward  toss  of  the 
head  that  the  boar  has  timed  to  make  at  the  moment  of 
impact,  and  the  whole  success  of  the  thrust  depends  upon 
a  quick  forward  step  and  a  lunge  that  anticipates  that 
toss  by  the  hundredth  part  of  a  second. 

While  he  is  waiting  the  native  receiving  the  charge 
scrapes  a  shallow  depression  in  the  path — something 
similar  to  a  sprinter's  starting  holes — into  which  the  toes 
of  his  left  foot  are  set  for  a  firm  grip  on  the  earth.  At 
the  psychologic  moment  the  right  foot  is  advanced  half  a 
pace,  the  left  leg  straightened  into  a  brace,  the  right  arm, 
with  its  extended  cutlass,  stiffened  to  a  bar  of  steel — 
and  the  thing  is  done.  The  keen  two-foot  blade,  slip- 
ping between  the  shoulder  blade  and  the  first  rib,  shores 
its  way  through  heart  and  lungs,  and  its  point  may  even 
penetrate  to  the  abdominal  cavity.  If  the  stroke  is  true 
the  blade  and  handle  of  the  knife  are  buried  to  the  wrist 
of  the  arm  that  drives  it  and  the  charging  animal 
crumples  up  into  an  inert  mass  without  uttering  a  sound. 
If  the  vital  spot  is  missed,  what  happens  depends  largely 
upon  the  extent  of  the  error.  If  the  point  of  the  knife 
meets  a  bone  squarely — as  rarely  happens,  however — the 
man  behind  it  may  be  thrown  backward  or  to  one  side 
by  the  impact,  and  escape  unscathed.  The  usual  miss, 
however,  comes  through  having  the  point  of  the  knife 
deflected  by  the  toss  of  the  boar's  head,  and  the  result  is 
a  glancing  thrust  which  will  probably  leave  the  hunter 
still  in  the  path  of  the  charge  and  exposed  to  the  deadly 
side-swipe  of  the  great  back-curving  tusks. 

It  is  not  often  that  there  is  more  than  one  wound — a 


86     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

charging  boar  rarely  returns  to  the  attack  once  his  im- 
petus has  carried  him  clear  of  his  enemies — and  the  con- 
sequences of  this  depend  largely  upon  its  location.  If  a 
thigh  is  cut  deeply  enough  the  wounded  man  will  bleed 
to  death ;  and  if  the  slash  is  across  the  abdomen,  though 
he  may  linger,  it  is  rarely  indeed  that  blood-poisoning 
fails  ultimately  to  claim  him  for  a  victim.  Because  the 
wild  pig  is  so  foul  a  feeder,  there  is  also  grave  danger  of 
blood-poisoning  from  the  superficial  wounds  on  the  arms 
and  legs,  but  most  of  these,  it  is  said,  are  recovered  from. 

Tebu  dropped  another  pig  or  two  with  the  same  easy 
nonchalance  that  had  marked  his  manner  from  the  out- 
set, and  then,  reluctantly,  gave  place  to  the  man  next  in 
line.  This  one  was  called  Maro,  and  he  was  reputed  the 
champion  pig-sticker  of  the  leeward  side  of  the  island. 
As  first  "backer-up,"  he  had  been  chafing  under  the  en- 
forced inactivity  for  some  minutes  and  complaining  that 
Tebu  was  taking  the  cream  of  the  sport  for  himself. 
The  new  "Number  1"  was  less  massive  of  build  than  his 
predecessor,  but  was  muscled  with  the  fluent  undulations 
of  swift-running  water — a  man  compact  of  watch- 
springs,  a  human  tiger-cat.  Deftly  and  easily  he 
dropped  his  first  pig — a  rangy  boar — slapped  a  flying 
half -grown  shote  contemptuously  with  the  flat  of  his  cut- 
lass as  beneath  his  notice,  and  had  just  got  well  "set" 
on  his  toes  again,  when  that  bane  of  the  Marquesan  pig- 
sticker, a  "double" — two  boars  running  close  together — 
came  charging  down. 

By  all  the  rules  of  the  game  this  twin  terror  should 
have  been  allowed  to  go  by  unmolested,  for  successfully 
to  stick  a  "double"  is  a  feat  as  rare  as  a  triple  play  in 
baseball  or  the  "hat  trick"  in  cricket — a  thing  to  be 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       87 

talked  about  for  years  after  it  has  happened.  But  it 
chanced  to  come  at  the  moment  when  the  shifty  Maro 
was  just  "on  edge" —  nicely  warmed  up  and  steadied  by 
his  first  pig  and  yet  not  wearied  by  successive  efforts — 
and  then  there  was  the  Beretani — the  white  man — who 
had  to  be  shown  what  a  Marquesan  could  really  do  in  a 
pinch.  Probably  the  latter  was  the  more  powerful  in- 
centive. At  any  rate,  without  a  gesture  or  a  glance  of 
hesitation,  he  settled  the  toes  of  his  left  foot  firmly  into 
their  hole,  poised  for  an  instant  in  quivering  readiness, 
and  then,  with  the  swiftness  of  a  striking  cobra,  lurched 
forward  in  two  lightning  passes. 

The  first  thrust,  which  was  delivered  at  the  full  exten- 
sion of  his  reach,  appeared  barely  to  brush  the  neck  of 
the  foremost  boar,  but  the  next — driven  home  with  a 
short-arm  jab  like  a  pugilist's  close-in  hook  at  an  oppon- 
ent's solar  plexus — buried  the  full  length  of  the  knife 
in  the  shoulder  of  the  second  boar,  and  brought  it  down 
in  a  heap,  Maro  himself  being  tripped  and  half -buried 
under  the  inert  body.  That  the  first  boar  had  been  more 
than  scratched  seemed  impossible;  yet  there  he  lay,  al- 
most at  my  feet,  giving  what  appeared  to  be  his  dying 
kicks.  Tebu  and  his  mate  were  extricating  Maro  from 
under  the  body  of  the  second  boar,  and  it  struck  me  that 
the  humane  thing  to  do  would  be  to  put  the  wounded 
beast  out  of  his  agony.  Accordingly,  without  taking 
especial  care  to  aim  accurately,  I  directed  a  couple  of 
bullets  from  my  ".38"  automatic  at  a  spot  behind  one  of 
the  ears  which  appeared  to  be  vulnerable. 

Just  where  the  bullets  struck  I  never  found  out,  for 
the  well-meant  shots  awakened  something  besides  the 
echoes  of  the  rock-girt  gorge.  At  the  touch  of  the  lead 


88     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  apparently  dying  boar  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
made  a  dive  for  the  lower  end  of  the  "gate."  Tebu 
struck  viciously  as  the  animal  passed  him,  but  only 
landed  a  harmless  slash,  and  the  cutlass  of  the  other 
native,  flung  on  the  chance  of  severing  a  rear  tendon, 
went  wide  of  its  mark.  The  fugitive,  running  blind  but 
strong,  disappeared  among  the  mazes  of  trails  that  led 
into  the  lower  valley,  followed  by  the  wails  of  Maro,  who 
saw  the  feat  of  a  lifetime  marred  by  the  interference  of  a 
meddlesome  outsider  who  had  been  too  cowardly  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  dangerous  part  of  the  game  himself. 
Shouting  something  in  voluble  Marquesan  in  my  direc- 
tion, he  leapt  back  into  the  runway  as  a  renewed  crash- 
ing broke  out  above,  and  stood  savagely  on  guard. 

"What  did  he  say?"  I  asked  McGrath's  boy,  Tavu, 
who  had  stuck  closely  to  my  side  through  all  the  excite- 
ment. 

"He  say  he  kill  pig  dead.  You  shoot  gun,  wake  him 
up.  Maro  damn  mad.  He  say  now  he  kill  three  pigs, 
all  one  time.  Maybe  he  mean  'long-pig.'  Maro  bad 
fella  b'long  Anaho,"  and  he  touched  his  eye  with  a  finger 
as  a  sign  that  it  would  be  well  to  be  on  guard. 

The  good  fellow  probably  did  Maro  an  injustice  in 
charging  him  with  harbouring  the  intention  of  convert- 
ing my  anatomy  into  that  most  recherche  of  Marquesan 
delicacies,  "long-pig" ;  but  if  there  was  any  doubt  of  his 
willingness,  in  his  anger  and  disappointment,  to  tackle 
three  pigs  at  once  it  was  effectually  dispelled  by  the 
events  of  the  next  few  moments.  The  shouts  of  the 
beaters  and  the  barking  of  the  dogs  had  been  growing 
louder  all  the  time,  and  the  crashings  in  the  underbrush 
told  that  the  pigs  were  now  coming  in  increasing  num- 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       89 

bers.  Three  or  four  of  them  shortly  came  tearing  into 
view,  and  then — all  of  a  sudden — the  path  was  packed 
with  bristling  black  figures,  the  first  few  running  hard 
and  free  and  the  rest  crowding  and  stumbling. 

The  rush  of  pigs  as  the  beaters  closed  in  was  always 
to  be  expected  in  this  particular  cul  de  sac,  and  McGrath 
had  warned  me  regarding  it. 

"Get  out  of  the  way  and  sit  tight,"  he  had  said;  "and 
don't  worry  about  the  boys.  They'll  take  care  of  them- 
selves." 

I  appeared  to  be  sufficiently  out  of  the  way  already, 
and  Tebu  and  the  third  native,  as  soon  as  they  had 
caught  sight  of  the  impending  avalanche,  came  over  and 
joined  me  on  the  roots  of  the  big  tree.  I  watched  them 
clamber  up  to  safety  and  then  turned  to  see  the  river  of 
pigs  sweep  by — and  there  was  that  sullen,  scowling 
tiger-cat  of  a  Maro  standing  his  ground  in  the  middle 
of  the  runway.  Of  course,  the  proper  thing  to  have 
done  would  have  been  for  some  self-sacrificing  soul  to 
leap  down  and  snatch  the  would-be  suicide  from  "under 
the  wheels,"  a  task  for  which  the  powerful  Tebu  was 
admirably  fitted  by  nature.  I'm  not  sure  that  the  duty 
of  indulging  in  this  form  of  self-sacrifice  is  included  in 
the  Marquesan  ethical  code,  but  even  if  it  had  been, 
there  was  no  time  to  put  it  into  practice.  Maro  dropped 
his  first  pig  and  made  a  pass  at  the  second  even  as  I 
looked.  The  two  animals  were  running  almost  neck- 
and-neck,  so  that  the  second  thrust  was  hardly  more  than 
a  slight  slash  upon  the  flying  brute's  shoulder.  It 
served  to  turn  Maro  in  his  tracks,  however,  and  not  all 
of  his  super-feline  quickness  could  bring  him  around 
again  in  time  to  meet  the  rush.  The  shoulder  of  the 


90     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

next  pig  sent  him  tottering  sidewise  as  the  animal 
passed,  and  in  another  moment  he  had  fallen  fairly 
across  the  upraising  head  of  a  huge  boar  in  the  van  of 
the  ruck.  For  an  instant  the  shining  bronze  body  ceased 
to  flash  against  the  heaving  black  background,  and  then, 
as  a  rat  is  tossed  by  a  terrier,  it  was  flung  cleanly  into 
the  air,  to  come  slamming  down  against  the  gnarled 
roots  of  our  maupe  tree  and  collapse  into  a  lifeless  heap. 
The  body  seemed  to  have  struck  the  tree  hard  enough  to 
break  half  of  its  bones;  yet  the  worst  injury,  I  told  my- 
self, must  have  come  from  the  terrific  toss  that  had  sent 
it  catapulting  through  the  air. 

After  the  rush  was  over  we  lost  no  time  in  clambering 
down  to  "view  the  remains."  Tebu  was  smiling  sar- 
donically, apparently  not  greatly  shocked  by  the  tragedy 
and  perhaps  secretly  pleased  at  having  the  only  man  in 
the  island  who  was  held  his  equal  in  pig-sticking  prowess 
put  out  of  the  running.  The  other  two  natives  seemed 
a  little  more  upset,  and  Tavu  was  muttering  to  himself 
the  ancient  Marquesan  proverb  which  translates  literally 
as  "Wild  pig — 'long-pig.'  "  This  has  lost  its  meaning 
since  cannibalism  became  practically  extinct,  but  in  the 
old  days  it  signified  that  when  the  men  went  out  to  get 
the  meat  of  the  wild  pig,  there  was  likely  also  to  be  man 
meat  to  eat  at  the  feast  that  was  held  when  the  hunt  was 
over. 

The  body  lay  on  its  back,  inert  as  the  carcasses  of  the 
pigs  that  littered  the  sides  of  the  runway.  Tebu  and  I 
picked  it  up  and  turned  it  over  to  reveal  the  wound  which 
we  knew  must  have  been  inflicted  when  it  was  tossed  into 
the  air — and  lo,  beyond  some  bluing  bruises,  there  was 
no  wound!  We  could  only  guess  how  so  seemingly  im- 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       91 

possible  a  thing  as  a  man's  being  tossed  ten  feet  by  a 
wild  boar  without  being  slashed  to  ribbons  could  have 
happened ;  but  the  most  probable  explanation  seemed  to 
be  that  Maro  had  fallen  sidewise  across  the  head  of  the 
animal,  behind  the  tusks,  so  that  the  upward  thrust  of 
the  powerful  neck  had  only  resulted  in  a  mighty  push. 
No  bones  appeared  to  be  broken.  A  welt  on  the  back 
of  the  head  where  it  had  struck  the  tree  accounted  for  the 
senseless  condition  of  the  scrappy  pig-sticker,  and  this, 
as  far  as  we  could  discover,  was  the  extent  of  the  in- 
juries. A  dash  of  water  from  the  nearby  stream 
brought  Maro  back  to  life  again,  but  too  dazed,  for  the 
time  being  at  least,  to  recall  the  resentment  he  had 
harboured  against  me  on  the  score  of  the  pig  I  had 
"waked  up"  with  my  pistol  shots. 

The  natives  now  cleared  a  space  of  brush  with  their 
cutlasses  and  we  prepared  to  rest  and  lunch  in  the 
shadow  of  the  big  tree.  A  fire  was  started  to  heat  stones 
for  roasting  a  young  pig  that  had  been  captured,  bread- 
fruit and  plantain  were  put  to  cooking,  coconuts  were 
opened  and  guavas,  mangoes  and  a  lucious  array  of  other 
tropical  fruits  were  laid  out  on  the  broad  leaves  of  the 
taro  plant.  And  then  came  the  women  to  our  Eden, 
and  with  them  the  Serpent. 

McGrath  had  given  the  strictest  orders  that  nothing 
in  the  form  of  toddy  should  be  brought  along  on  the 
hunt,  and  this  injunction  had  apparently  been  heeded  as 
far  as  the  hunters  themselves  were  concerned.  But  the 
dozen  or  more  girls  who  had  come  on  later  to  help  as 
beaters  and  share  in  the  division  of  the  meat,  claimed  to 
have  heard  nothing  of  the  prohibition.  Possibly  it  was 
a  "frame-up"  on  the  part  of  the  men,  or  perhaps  it  just 


92     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

happened.  At  any  rate,  when  the  beating  brigade  be- 
gan to  straggle  in,  it  became  apparent  at  once  that  tip- 
pling had  been  going  on,  and  shortly  I  saw  the  bruised 
and  battered  Maro  taking  a  long  draught  from  a  cala- 
bash that  was  being  held  to  his  lips  by  a  star-eyed  minx 
with  a  red  hibiscus  blossom  behind  her  ear  and  a  rakish 
chaplet  of  fern  frond  tilted  across  her  comely  brow. 

"Coco  toddy,"  muttered  Tavu,  half  in  alarm,  half 
in  anticipative  ecstasy.  "Plenty  coco  toddy  b'long 
vakine." 

It  would  be  churlish,  I  told  myself,  to  attempt  to  for- 
bid the  ambrosia  to  any  of  the  tired  gladiators  when  the 
common  herd  of  the  beaters  had  already  been  cheering 
themselves  with  it.  Then — fatal  mistake — I  nodded  my 
head  in  acquiescence  when  an  epu  was  held  up  for  Tavu, 
my  guardian,  to  quaff,  and — but  I  had  already  taken  a 
gulp  of  the  liquid  fire  from  a  calabash  that  a  bronze, 
flower-crowned  Hebe,  with  arms  that  were  symphonies 
of  rippling  loveliness  and  eyes  that  were  twin  wells  of 
limpid  light,  had  brought  and  hung  about  my  neck. 
Another  brought  a  wreath  for  my  brow  and  a  flower  for 
my  ear,  and  thus  crowned  the  king  of  the  Bacchic  revel 
it  became  all  the  more  difficult  to  inaugurate  a  temper- 
ance program  among  my  festive  subjects.  There 
wasn't  enough  of  the  toddy  to  put  them  in  a  cannibalistic 
mood,  I  argued ;  and,  anyhow,  they  were  bound  to  have 
all  they  wanted,  and  at  my  expense,  as  soon  as  they  got 
back  to  Taio-haie. 

At  any  rate,  the  "women  did  offer  us  of  the  wine  to 
drink,  and  we  did  drink,"  and  it  was  all  a  very  merry 
little  "hunting  breakfast."  It  is  not  my  purpose  to 
write  here  of  the  imp  who  lurks  in  the  depths  of  the  coco 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       93 

toddy  calabash  to  spring  out  upon  the  unwary  one  who 
uncovers  him,  as  I  shall  have  more  to  say  of  him  later 
on  in  Tahiti.  On  this  occasion  such  mischief  as  was 
wrought  was  only  indirectly  traceable  to  him,  and  it  is 
by  no  means  impossible  that  it  might  not  have  occurred 
anyway. 

This  was  how  it  came  about :  From  time  to  time  some 
of  the  dogs  that  had  strayed  would  come  straggling  in, 
and  in  nearly  every  case  driving  a  pig  or  two  ahead  of 
them.  As  the  animals  appeared,  now  one  and  now  an- 
other of  the  natives  would  jump  up,  intercept  the  fugi- 
tive in  the  runway  and  bring  him  to  earth  with  that  easy, 
effortless  neck -thrust  that,  to  the  beholder,  was  more 
like  a  caress  than  a  stab.  But  because  they  had  drunken 
of  the  insidious  toddy  and  there  were  many  spectators, 
the  stickers  were  more  than  ordinarily  nonchalant  in 
their  motions,  and — possibly  because  I,  also,  had  par- 
taken of  the  toddy — the  trick  kept  looking  easier  and 
easier  every  time  it  was  done.  And  probably  it  was  be- 
cause Maro  had  been  stimulating  his  dazed  faculties 
with  the  toddy  that  the  recollection  of  the  "double"  I 
had  spoiled  for  him  reawakened,  and  he  began  to  tell  the 
party  how  it  happened.  I  didn't  need  to  know  Mar- 
quesan  to  understand  the  fluent  gestures  which  pictured 
me  resting  comfortably  in  the  tree  while  the  killing  was 
going  on,  and  showed  how  I  didn't  even  dare  to  shoot 
off  my  pistol  at  anything  but  a  dead  pig;  and  as  for 
having  the  courage  to  stand  before  one  with  a  knife — 
the  scorn  of  his  "let-me-forget-it"  expression  was  posi- 
tively eff  acive. 

In  my  own  action  I  have  always  told  myself  that  toddy 
played  no  part;  but  that  delectable  beverage  certainly 


94     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

was  responsible  for  the  fact  that  Tavu,  who  was  under 
the  strictest  orders  from  McGrath  to  keep  me  out  of  mis- 
chief, only  nodded  approbatively  when  I  picked  up 
Tebu's  big  cutlass  from  the  grass  and  strode  out  into 
the  runway  to  "make  my  honour  white."  Tebu,  with 
a  roar  of  delight,  seized  another  cutlass  and  came  out 
to  "back  up"  for  me,  but  I  waved  him  indignantly  aside, 
resolved  to  do  the  trick  alone.  The  good  fellow  stepped 
aside  obediently,  but,  unluckily  for  himself,  "stood  by" 
against  an  emergency. 

Flower-crowned  and  sword  in  hand!  I  have  called 
up  that  incongruous  picture  in  memory  many  times 
since,  and  always  to  caption  it  with  some  classic  title. 
Of  these,  "Bacchus  in  the  Role  of  Ajax  Defying  the 
Lightning"  has  seemed  to  me  rather  the  most  appro- 
priate. 

The  crowd  fell  silent  as  a  crashing  and  the  barking 
of  dogs  in  the  bush  above  told  that  another  fugitive  was 
approaching,  for  they  scented  trouble  with  the  Resi- 
dente  in  case  anything  happened  to  the  Beretani  who 
had  been  put  into  their  charge.  (I  learned  later  that 
the  natives  hunting  with  a  French  official  who  had  been 
killed  trying  to  shoot  a  wild  bull  the  year  before  had 
been  seriously  punished.)  Thanks  again  to  the  toddy, 
however,  no  one  made  a  move  to  interfere. 

It  was  an  uncommonly  unkind  trick  of  Fate  to  have 
held  up  the  only  really  large  boar  that  appeared  in  the 
course  of  that  hunt  until  I,  the  greenest  of  green  novices, 
had  set  myself  so  defiantly  in  the  middle  of  his  path  that 
there  was  no  graceful  way  of  getting  out  of  it.  Also, 
it  was  harshly  ordered  that,  whereas  the  other  animals 
had  come  charging  down  as  evenly  as  though  strung  on 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS       95 

trolleys,  this  monster,  with  two  dogs  nipping  his  heels, 
should  be  plunging  and  reeling  like  a  ship  in  a  gale. 

I  had  clearly  in  mind  everything  that  needed  to  be 
done,  even  to  kicking  the  toe-hole  for  my  left  foot,  and 
I  kept  repeating  to  myself  the  words  of  my  old  Varsity 
baseball  coach  to  his  batters — "Step  out  and  meet  it." 
These  words  had  been  recalled  to  me  repeatedly  during 
the  morning  as  Tebu  or  Maro  delivered  his  deadly  thrust 
with  a  quick  forward  step,  and  that,  with  keeping  the 
eye  on  the  vulnerable  spot  between  the  neck  and  shoul- 
der, seemed  to  me  to  be  the  crucial  points  upon  which 
the  turning  of  the  trick  depended.  I  have  since  been 
told  that  this  is  quite  correct.  But  this  procedure  was 
calculated  to  be  followed  in  the  case  of  the  regulation 
direct-charging  boar;  what  to  do  in  the  case  of  a  brute 
that  was  tossing  his  head  in  spirals,  as  now  this  flank, 
and  now  that,  was  nipped  by  a  pursuing  dog,  I  didn't — 
and  I  still  don't — know  just  what  to  do. 

Because  I  felt  that  I  knew  just  what  to  do,  and  just 
how  to  do  it,  I  had  myself  perfectly  in  hand  until,  sud- 
den as  a  lightning  flash,  came  the  realization  that  the 
spot  that  I  must  strike  between  the  neck  and  the  shoul- 
der was  not  keeping  on  an  even  plane.  I  had  experi- 
enced some  fairly  exciting  close-in  work  with  grizzly  and 
silver  tip  on  a  couple  of  occasions  previous  to  that  morn- 
ing, and  since  then  I  have  stopped  the  charge  of  a  South 
American  jaguar  with  a  revolver  and  known  what  it 
is  to  see  a  Bengal  tiger  clawing  the  howdah  of  an  ele- 
phant I  was  riding;  but  never  have  I  known  anything 
to  approach  the  "all  gone"  feeling  which  accompanied 
the  realization  that  I  was  not  going  to  be  able  to  locate 
the  spot  which  had  to  be  located  if  I  was  to  avoid  a 


96     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

collision  that  would  make  that  of  Maro's  a  friendly 
jostle  in  comparison. 

The  instant  the  message  "You  can't  do  it!"  was  flashed 
to  my  brain,  the  charging  pig  ceased  to  be  a  pig,  so  far  as 
I  was  concerned,  and  became  a  Car  of  Juggernaut,  a 
Bolt  of  Wrath,  the  incarnation  of  everything  that  was 
Swift,  Terrible  and  Inevitable.  Before  I  knew  it  I  had 
dropped  the  useless  cutlass,  snatched  out  my  automatic 
pistol  and  was  discharging  it  wildly  at  the  approaching 
monster.  The  rattle  of  shots  was  answered  by  a  burst 
of  savage  snarls  mingled  with  quick  yelps  of  pain,  and 
then,  as  the  hammer  snapped  down  on  unresponding 
steel  after  the  last  cartridge  was  fired,  I  sprang  blindly 
to  one  side  and  plunged  headlong  into  the  brush.  That 
I  dove  into  the  unsympathetic  depths  of  some  kind  of  a 
fishhook  thorn  bush,  which  took  ample  toll  for  the  in- 
trusion when  I  was  dragged  out  by  the  heels  a  minute 
later,  was  only  an  incident  in  the  light  of  the  fact  that — 
thanks  to  an  instinct  for  preservation  that  not  even  coco 
toddy  had  drugged  to  sleep — I  had  avoided  so  much  as 
a  brush  from  the  charging  boar. 

A  roar  of  agony  and  shouts  of  consternation  told  me, 
even  before  I  was  released  from  the  tentacles  of  the  thorn 
bush,  that  some  one  else  had  got  in  the  way  of  the  charge 
that  I  had  declined  to  meet;  then  the  noise  of  the  pur- 
suit passed  on  and  died  out  beyond  the  "gate."  My  pig- 
skin puttees  were  about  the  only  things  I  had  on  that 
did  not  remain,  wholly  or  in  part,  in  the  embrace  of  the 
thorns,  but  my  own  scratches  were  quickly  forgotten 
at  the  sight  of  the  other  victim  of  the  charge.  There 
were  two  other  victims,  in  fact — one  a  dog  that  had 
been  raked  by  a  soft-nosed  bullet  from  my  pistol,  and 


HUNTING  IN  THE  MARQUESAS      97 

the  other  the  stout-hearted  old  gladiator,  Tebu,  who, 
leaping  to  take  up  the  challenge  I  had  side-stepped,  had 
fallen  afoul  of  the  boar  itself.  His  bulldog  courage — 
or  the  toddy — had  impelled  him  to  undertake  on  short 
notice  the  job  the  Beretani  had  shirked,  and,  with  no 
chance  to  locate  the  vital  spot  for  his  thrust,  had  lunged 
wildly  and  taken  the  consequences. 

The  dog  was  dead,  and  it  looked  for  a  while  as  though 
Tebu,  with  a  foot-long  gash  across  his  thigh  and  bleed- 
ing like  one  of  the  pigs  that  lay  beside  him,  would  fol- 
low suit.  It  transpired  presently,  however,  that  no 
arteries  were  severed;  so  after  staunching  the  flow  as 
effectually  as  possible  with  a  torniquet  and  bandages 
that  left  several  members  of  the  party  nearly  in  a  state 
of  nature  after  giving  up  their  pareos  for  the  where- 
withal, they  rigged  up  a  rough  litter  of  boughs  and  lianas 
and  set  off,  not  untenderly,  to  bear  the  wounded  warrior 
back  to  Taio-haie.  There,  thanks  to  the  skilful  and 
kind  care  of  the  sisters  at  the  Mission,  he  was  soon  on 
his  way  to  recovery. 

A  month  later,  in  Tahiti,  I  received  a  letter  from 
Cramer,  the  German  trader  of  Taio-haie.  After  going 
on  to  tell  how  our  friend  McGrath  had  been  blown  away 
in  his  cutter  during  a  hurricane  and  was  given  up  for 
lost,  he  wrote: 

"I  saw  Tebu  today.  He  is  still  very  lame,  and  prob- 
ably always  will  be,  but  he  has  been  going  out  every 
day  since  he  left  the  mission  hospital  to  hunt  the  big 
boar  that  cut  him  up  so  the  time  he  was  out  with  you. 
He  says  he  is  going  to  keep  on  hunting  it  until  he  kills 
the  boar  or  the  boar  kills  him." 


98     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

To  this  letter  was  added  a  postscript,  written  several 
days  later,  which  read: 

"Tebu  brought  in  the  big  boar  last  night.  He  says 
he  knows  it  by  the  cut  he  gave  it  on  the  shoulder.  As 
we  found  no  bullet  marks  on  the  body  we  have  thought 
he  is  probably  mistaken." 

To  this  I  replied : 

"Probably  Tebu  is  right.  I  cannot  swear  that  I  was 
looking  down  the  sights  of  my  pistol  when  I  fired  those 
shots." 

Thus  pig-sticking  in  the  Marquesas.  It  is  bloody 
and  cruel,  as  is  the  killing  of  all  animals;  but,  because 
the  quarry  is  nearly  always  dropped  in  its  tracks,  it  is 
far  less  open  to  criticism  on  that  score  than  most  other 
forms  of  hunting.  But  the  finest  thing — I  may  well 
say,  the  grandest  thing — about  it  is  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
strictly  man-to-beast,  give-and-take  affair,  with  the 
hunter  meeting  his  quarry  more  nearly  on  equal  terms 
than  in  any  other  form  of  hunting  practised  since  the 
days  of  the  Cave  Men. 

Of  the  wild  cattle  hunt  which  McGrath,  after  infinite 
trouble,  arranged  for  one  of  the  final  days  of  our  stay 
in  Nukahiva,  I  have  written  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   PASSION    PLAY   AT   TJAHUKA 

THE  decennial  Passion  Play  at  Oberammergau  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  written  and  talked  about  theatrical 
performance  that  has  ever  been  staged,  and  even  the 
annual  pageants  put  on  during  Holy  Week  in  certain 
of  the  Italian,  Spanish  and  South  American  theatres 
have  attained  to  considerable  publicity  in  other  parts  of 
the  world;  the  Passion  Play  of  the  French  mission  at 
Uahuka,  an  island  of  the  Marquesan  group,  has  been 
witnessed  by  less  than  half  a  dozen  non-resident  white 
men,  and  as  a  consequence  the  fame  of  it,  except  such 
hazy  versions  as  have  found  their  way  to  France  through 
the  channels  of  the  missionary  society  records,  scarcely 
reaches  beyond  the  coral  reefs  that  fringe  the  rocky 
Uahukan  shores. 

Vague  rumours  of  a  strange  Marquesan  Passion  Play 
had  come  to  us  before  we  sailed  from  Hawaii,  and  on 
the  arrival  of  the  yacht  in  Taio-haie,  the  capital  of  that 
group,  we  were  assured  that  such  a  performance  was 
"staged"  annually.  The  interest  of  this  announcement 
was  tempered  by  the  news  that  the  last  performance  had 
taken  place  a  fortnight  previously  and  that  another 
would  not  be  put  on  until  Holy  Week  of  the  following 
year.  We  did  not  make  our  projected  visit  to  Uahuka, 
therefore,  and  I  was  consequently  unable  to  secure  first- 
hand data  regarding  this  unique  event.  The  somewhat 
fragmentary  and  frivolous  account  I  am  writing  smacks 

99 


100     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

strongly,  I  fear,  of  the  sources  from  which  my  informa- 
tion was  gathered,  this  or  that  trader  and  skipper  of 
the  "beaches"  of  Taio-haie  and  Tahiti,  and  especially 
a  fascinating  renegade  by  the  name  of  Bruce  Manners, 
who  came  off  to  the  yacht  one  night  in  Papeete  and 
smoked  a  half  dozen  of  the  Commodore's  Perfectos 
while  spinning  us  yarns  of  his  lurid  career  in  the  Mar- 
quesas and  Paumotos. 

All  through  the  South  Pacific  missionary  work  fol- 
lows closely  the  lines  of  nationality,  with  the  London 
Missionary  Society  dominant  in  the  British  possessions, 
and  French  organizations,  both  Protestant  and  Catholic, 
monopolizing  the  field  in  the  islands  over  which  the 
jaunty  tri-colour  of  France  whips  itself  to  tatters  in  the 
whistling  Southeast  Trades.  As  the  United  States 
holds  only  a  naval  station  at  Pago  Pago,  Samoa,  and 
Germany  is  now  out  of  the  Pacific  altogether,  missionar- 
ies of  American  and  Teutonic  extraction  are  a  negligi- 
ble quantity.  This  alignment  gives  the  aggressive  Brit- 
ish society  most  of  the  reclamation  work  west  of  the 
180th  meridian,  and  the  French  the  territory  to  the 
east.  The  headquarters  of  the  French  missionary  sys- 
tem is  that  country's  capital  in  the  South  Seas,  Papeete, 
Tahiti,  in  the  Society  group;  but  the  active  zone,  the 
"firing  line,"  so  to  speak,  is  in  the  barbaric  and  cannibal- 
istic Marquesas,  and  centres  in  the  big  island  of  the 
north  group,  Uahuka. 

The  Passion  Play  at  Uahuka  has  been  presented,  it 
is  said,  every  Easter  for  the  last  fifty  years.  It  was 
inaugurated  by  the  Catholic  mission,  and  in  its  initial 
presentation  all  the  roles  were  taken  by  French  mis- 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  UAHUKA    101 

sionaries,  these  being  gathered  from  various  parts  of 
the  Paumotos,  Societies  and  Marquesas  and  brought  to 
the  scene  of  the  performance  in  a  specially  chartered 
fleet  of  trading  schooners.  The  following  year  numer- 
ous minor  parts  were  given  to  natives  as  rewards  for 
becoming  converts  to  Catholicism — the  competition  be- 
tween Romanist  and  Protestant  was  very  keen  at  this 
time — and  before  many  seasons  had  gone  by  even  the 
leading  roles  came  to  be  filled  by  the  savages,  the  mis- 
sionaries contenting  themselves  with  such  positions  as 
stage  manager,  musical  director,  mistress  of  the  ward- 
robe and  the  like. 

This  Passion  Play  serves  admirably  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  originally  designed,  that  of  bringing  home 
by  tableaux  to  the  simple  natives  a  more  graphic  realiza- 
tion of  the  dramatic  events  surrounding  the  life  and 
death  of  Christ  than  would  be  possible  by  mere  words 
and  pictures,  and  while  its  tone  would  scarcely  be  char- 
acterized as  "dignified"  by  a  dispassioned  white  man 
from  the  outside  world,  its  moral  effect  upon  the  na- 
tives,— temporarily,  at  least — is  most  favourable. 

The  Passion  Play  is  still  presented  in  the  same  place 
that  the  first  performance  by  the  missionaries  was  put 
on,  a  sort  of  natural  ampitheatre  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  Catholic  reserve  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  of 
Uahuka.  The  mission  buildings,  low  rambling  struc- 
tures of  coral  and  galvanized  iron,  flank  two  sides  of 
the  pentagonal  enclosure.  Two  other  sides  are  shut  in 
by  close-set  rows  of  banyans  of  such  size  that  their  roots 
and  down-reaching  branches  mingle  to  form  almost 
solid  lines  of  irregular  wooden  terraces  upon  which 
hundreds  of  spectators  may  find  seats  without  crowd- 


•102  -IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ing.  The  stage  is  a  hard-packed  piece  of  ground  slop- 
ing gently  down  to  a  crystal  clear  stream  of  water  which 
meanders  past,  sparkling  in  the  sunbeams  like  a  row  of 
footlights,  the  position  of  which  it  approximately  occu- 
pies. Behind  the  stage  is  a  creeper-covered  wall  of 
rock,  with  a  face  so  unbroken  and  sheer  that  the  direc- 
tion "exit  rear"  must  necessarily  be  eliminated  from  all 
performances.  To  the  left  is  spoken  of  as  "down 
Ta-roo-la," — the  name  of  the  little  stream — and  to  the 
right  is  "up  Ta-roo-la."  Actors  waiting  in  either  wings 
are  screened  from  the  sight  of  the  audience  by  the  last 
of  the  rows  of  banyans  which  run  down  close  to  the 
stream  on  either  side. 

The  music  is  furnished  by  a  slightly  wheezy  organ, 
a  clarionet  and  a  lot  of  hollow-tree  tom-toms,  and  to  the 
stirring  strains  of  the  Marseillaise  played  by  this  orches- 
tra the  opening  curtain  is  rung  up  upon  the  tableau 
of  "Christ  and  the  Children."  Of  course  there  is  no 
curtain  and  no  ringing  up ;  Christ  simply  strolls  in  from 
"up  Ta-roo-la,"  and  the  children  troop  in  from  "down 
Ta-roo-la,"  and  they  meet  in  the  middle  of  the  stage. 
Then  Christ  pats  them  all  on  the  head,  and  they  all  file 
off  behind  Him  as  He  exits  "down  Ta-roo-la."  There 
is  no  stage  setting,  and  little  is  attempted  in  the  way  of 
make-ups. 

The  children  are  simply  children  and  the  part  of 
Christ  is  taken  by  a  native  called  Lurau.  Lurau  is  the 
greatest  pearl  diver  and  shark  fisher  in  all  the  Mar- 
quesas. With  his  hair  and  beard  neatly  oiled  and 
combed,  and  dressed  in  a  trailing  robe  of  snowy  muslin, 
Lurau  makes  a  far  more  acceptable-looking  Christus 


'THE  PART  OF  CHRIST  is  TAKEN  BY  A  NATIVE  CALLED  LURAU 


MARQUESAN  MOTHER  AND  CHILD 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  UAHUKA     103 

than  one  sees  in  many  of  the  South  American  presenta- 
tions of  the  Passion  Play.  There  is  little  in  his  dispo- 
sition off  the  stage  to  fit  him  for  his  exalted  role,  and 
before  he  became  a  fixture  in  the  leading  part  of  the 
Passion  Play  he  was  a  veritable  rubber  ball  in  the  way 
in  which  he  bounced  back  and  forth  between  the  Prot- 
estants and  Catholics.  He  owes  the  distinguished  hon- 
our that  has  come  to  him  to  his  beard  rather  than  to  his 
histrionic  abilities;  he  is  the  only  native  in  the  Mar- 
quesas— and,  as  far  as  is  known,  in  all  the  South  Pacific 
as  well — with  a  growth  of  hair  on  his  face. 

The  simple  white  robe  worn  by  Lurau  is  in  good  keep- 
ing with  his  part,  but  this  can  hardly  be  said  of  a  very 
tangible  halo  that  has  apparently  been  cut  from  a  square 
of  shiny  biscuit  tin,  a  piece  of  literalness,  however,  in 
which  the  simple  islanders  seem  to  see  no  trace  of  in- 
congruity. In  fact,  this  item  of  make-up  was  added, 
it  is  said,  at  the  suggestion  of  a  native  who,  after  one 
of  the  early  performances  of  the  Play,  led  the  stage- 
manager  to  a  coloured  print  in  the  mission  chapel  and 
pointed  out  that  the  stage  Christ  had  no  such  "fire- 
face"  as  distinguished  the  one  in  the  lithograph.  He 
suggested  obtaining  the  halo  effect  by  having  the  actor 
wear  a  lot  of  little  kukui  nut  torches  in  his  hair,  but  the 
cautious  fathers,  while  acknowledging  the  realistic  pos- 
sibilities of  this  expedient,  decided  on  the  jagged  rim  of 
bright  biscuit  tin  as  safer. 

During  the  week  of  the  Play,  both  on  and  off  the 
stage,  Lurau  is  quiet,  dignified  and  a  general  paragon 
of  virtue  in  every  particular;  afterwards — he  is  just  like 
all  the  rest  of  his  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  Marquesas, 


104     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

prone  to  excesses.  Lurau's  post-Passion  Play  spree  is 
listed  with  the  hurricane  season  as  one  of  the  regular 
annual  disturbances  in  those  latitudes. 

The  second  scene  of  the  Play  is  that  of  the  "Redemp- 
tion of  the  Magdalen."  The  latter,  dressed  in  a  bright 
red  holakau  or  wrapper — the  symbol  of  her  sinfulness 
— comes  strolling  in  from  the  upstream  side  and  dis- 
covers Christ  resting  on  a  niche  of  the  rfock  which  forms 
the  back  wall.  Her  repentance  and  forgiveness  follow, 
after  which  Christ  presents  her  with  a  pure  white  hola- 
kau which  he  chances  to  have  tucked  under  his  arm. 
She  receives  a  blessing,  trips  off  down  stream,  changes 
holakaus  in  the  wink  of  an  eye  behind  the  friendly  trunk 
of  a  bread-fruit  tree,  and  the  "curtain"  follows  ber  dis- 
appearance upstream  in  the  trailing  robe  of  white. 

The  Magdalen  has  been  played  by  a  different  person 
almost  every  year.  The  one  who  took  that  part  in  the 
last  presentation  was,  so  Bruce  Manners  assured  us, 
far  better  in  the  "red  holakau'  than  in  the  "white  hola- 
kau" part  of  her  role,  her  work  as  a  repentant  sinner 
having  been  decidedly  marred  through  a  persistent  tend- 
ency to  ogle  a  group  of  young  trading  schooner  officers 
who  occupied  a  proscenium  banyan. 

For  the  "Supper"  scene,  no  endeavour  is  made  to 
reproduce  a  tableau  patterned  on  the  famous  painting 
of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  Historic  truthfulness  is  not 
attempted  even  to  the  extent  of  a  table.  A  bountiful 
repast  of  bread-fruit,  plantains,  yams  and  coconuts  is 
spread  out  upon  a  cover  of  banana  leaves,  and  every- 
body sits  down  cross-legged  and  eats  for  fully  ten  min- 
utes before  a  word  is  spoken.  Supper  over,  the  rem- 
nants are  gathered  up  and  thrown  into  the  convenient 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  UAHUKA     105 

Ta-roo-la,  the  waters  of  which  carry  them  away  in  a 
jiffy.  Then  follows  the  washing  of  the  feet  of  the  dis- 
ciples. Lurau  wades  over  into  the  stream,  seats  him- 
self on  a  convenient  boulder,  and  as  each  of  the  dis- 
ciples comes  out  in  turn,  gives  both  of  the  latter's  feet 
a  vigorous  scrubbing  with  a  brush  of  coco  husk  and  a 
piece  of  soap.  After  receiving  a  blessing,  the  disciple 
heads  for  the  bank,  and  as  each  lifts  the  skirt  of  his  robe 
to  clear  the  stream  a  well-defined  "high-water  mark," 
running  in  graceful  undulations  around  his  lower  calf, 
is  usually  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the  audience. 

The  scene  of  "Christ  Healing  the  Lepers"  as  pre- 
sented at  Uahuka  is,  perhaps,  the  most  realistic  tableau, 
in  one  particular  at  least,  that  is  staged  in  any  of  the 
Passion  Plays.  Real  lepers  appear  on  the  stage.  In 
the  early  days  of  the  Play  these  parts  were  taken  by 
entirely  whole  and  healthy  people,  but  the  missionaries 
were  never  able  to  persuade  the  natives  that,  with  so 
many  real  lepers  ready  to  hand,  any  make-believe  in  this 
particular  need  be  indulged  in.  Finally  several  of  the 
lepers  themselves — Christian  converts — came  to  the  Fa- 
thers and  asked  what  was  the  use  of  curing  a  lot  of  well 
people  in  the  Play  when  there  were  so  many  sick  ones 
about  that  really  needed  curing.  This  was  hard  to  an- 
swer— to  the  satisfaction  of  the  questioners — and  the  up- 
shot of  the  matter  was  that  a  half  dozen  of  the  cases  least 
liable  to  spread  the  dread  disease  were  allowed  upon  the 
stage  at  the  next  performance.  Following  the  week  of 
the  Play  it  is  said  that  a  very  marked  improvement  was 
evident  for  several  months  in  the  condition  of  every  one 
of  the  unfortunates  that  appeared  during  its  continu- 
ance. Since  that  occasion  the  good  missionaries  have 


106     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

not  had  the  heart  to  refuse  the  prayers  of  any  of  those 
who  have  come  to  them  at  Eastertide,  until  now  it  is 
necessary  to  divide  them  off  into  squads  of  a  score  or  so 
each,  and  allow  a  different  squad  to  appear  each  night. 
The  government  doctor  at  Uahuka  claims  that  there  has 
been  a  marked  decrease  in  the  leper  mortality  of  the 
island  since  this  strange  practice  has  been  inaugurated, 
and  that  no  serious  consequences  have  followed  the  ex- 
traordinary mixing  of  the  sick  and  the  well  at  this  sea- 
son. No  unnecessary  chances  are  taken,  however,  and 
the  good  Lurau  who,  in  his  role  of  Christ,  is  more  ex- 
posed than  any  of  the  others,  receives  special  attention 
after  each  performance  in  the  shape  of  a  formaldehyde 
fumigation  at  the  hands  of  the  doctor. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  characters  in  the  Play  is 
Judas.  From  the  first  it  has  been  the  aim  of  the  Fa- 
thers to  impress  the  natives  as  strongly  as  possible  with 
the  real  goodness  or  badness  of  the  various  characters, 
and  to  this  end,  in  the  case  of  Judas,  the  natives  who 
have  played  the  role  have  been  repeatedly  taken,  on  a 
temporary  reprieve,  from  the  convict  settlement. 
Judas  has  always  been  a  bad  man,  actually  as  well  as 
artistically,  and  it  is  recorded  that  no  less  than  half  a 
dozen  of  him  have  endeavoured  to  steal  the  thirty  pieces 
of  silver — in  this  case  Mexican  or  Chilean  dollars,  which 
pass  current  in  the  island — with  which  he  has  been 
bribed.  Of  late  years  the  thoughtful  Fathers  have  re- 
moved this  temptation  by  binding  the  bargain  with  a 
tinkling  bagful  of  broken  crockery. 

The  Judas  of  five  or  six  years  ago — one  John  Bas- 
card,  the  half-caste  son  of  an  Australian  trader  and  a 
native  wife,  who  was  serving  a  term  for  robbing  a 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  UAHUKA     107 

pearler — turned  out  almost  as  badly  as  his  notorious 
original,  for  he  looted  the  mission  on  the  second  night 
of  the  Play,  rowed  off  with  the  Magdalen  to  a  trading 
cutter  anchored  in  the  bay,  surprised  the  solitary  watch- 
man, threw  him  overboard,  and  sailed  the  little  boat 
off  single-handed  for  the  Paumotos,  leaving  the  Play  to 
limp  on  to  a  finish  with  half -trained  understudies  in  two 
of  the  leading  parts. 

The  part  of  Pontius  Pilate  has  been  played  for  nearly 
twenty  years  by  an  old  chief — a  quondam  cannibal — 
named  Rauga.  His  costume  is  a  frogged  military  coat 
and  a  silk  hat,  the  idea  of  the  Fathers  being  to  effect  a 
combination  that  will  make  the  deepest  impression  on 
the  natives  as  symbolical  of  constituted  power.  The 
missionary  and  the  French  soldier  are  the  two  most  au- 
gust personages  which  their  simple  minds  can  conceive 
of,  and  the  two  most  striking  features  of  the  costume 
of  each,  united  upon  one  person,  make  an  impression 
incomparably  more  profound  than  would  a  Roman  toga 
topped  off  with  an  eagle-crowned  helmet,  or  any  of 
the  other  combinations  that  are  worn  by  Pilate  in  the 
more  pretentious  Passion  Plays.  Rauga  is  inordinately 
proud  of  his  part,  and  the  honour  of  appearing  in  it 
has  held  him  steadfastly  Catholic  in  the  face  of  active 
efforts  by  the  Protestants  to  swing  him,  temporarily  at 
least,  over  to  their  side. 

The  costume  of  John  the  Baptist  is,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, that  of  a  native  novitiate — a  black  robe  and  a 
shovel  hat.  If  Manners  is  to  be  believed,  the  unfortu- 
nate individual  who  was  cast  for  that  part  a  half  dozen 
years  back  made  a  transient  appearance  in  a  somewhat 
modified  garb.  This  was  a  "Brand-from-the-Burning" 


108     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

called  Ma-woo,  who  had  been  converted  a  few  months 
previously  when  the  Fathers  secured  his  parole  from 
prison,  where  he  had  been  serving  a  five-year  sen- 
tence for  illicit  pearling.  His  most  salient  character- 
istic was  an  inordinate  fondness  for  coco  toddy,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  was  taken  advantage  of  by  a  couple 
of  local  traders  to  play  a  practical  joke  upon  the  mis- 
sionaries, with  whom  their  kind,  in  the  Marquesas  as 
elsewhere,  have  always  been  at  open  warfare.  The  pres- 
ent of  a  calabash  of  toddy  to  Ma-woo,  with  the  promise 
of  another  later,  putting  him  in  a  cheerfully  obliging 
mood,  he  was  rigged  out  in  a  ribbon-wide  breech-clout, 
an  old  dress  coat  and  a  battered  silk  hat,  and  with  a 
bulky  volume  of  Sailing  Directions  under  his  arm  was 
quietly  conducted  to  the  "stage  entrance"  of  the  banyan 
theatre  just  in  time  to  respond  to  his  "cue"  in  the  John 
the  Baptist  tableau. 

Manners  gave  me  a  photograph  of  unlucky  Ma-woo, 
taken  by  one  of  the  traders  before  they  "sent  him  on  his 
mission,"  and  if  it  is  really  true,  as  is  claimed,  that  John 
the  Baptist  appeared  thus  accoutred  in  his  tableau  in 
the  Passion  Play,  one  can  easily  believe  our  friend's 
assertion  that  two  of  the  sisters  fainted  and  that  the 
Fathers  caused  the  culprit  to  be  thrown  back  into  prison 
to  serve  the  remainder  of  his  sentence. 

Ruth  Ingalls,  who  has  played  the  part  of  Mary,  the 
Mother,  for  the  last  three  years,  is  a  half-white  girl  of 
unknown  parentage.  She  is  said  to  have  a  Junoesque 
figure,  a  face  of  rare  beauty  and  a  manner  of  real  charm. 
She  is  about  twenty-five  years  of  age — fifteen  years 
younger  than  Lurau,  whose  mother  she  is  supposed  to 
be  in  the  Play — and  has  been  directly  under  the  care 


jpf-te. 


"PONTIUS  PILATE  HAS  BEEN  PLAYED  FOR  TWENTY  YEARS  BY  AN 
OLD  CHIEF A  QUONDAM  CANNIBAL" 


MUST    IN    TIME    TO    RESPOND    TO    HIS    'CUE'    IN    THE    JOHN    THE 

BAPTIST  TABLEAU" 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  UAHUKA     109 

of  the  missionaries  since  the  time  when,  a  child  of  five, 
she  was  cast  up  on  the  beach  of  one  of  the  Paumotos 
with  the  wreckage  of  a  Tahitian  trading  schooner.  She 
is  supposed  to  be  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  French 
count — a,  fugitive  from  justice  in  Tahiti  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago — and  the  queen  of  the  neighbouring  island 
of  Bora-Bora,  a  lady  whose  marital  responsibilities  ap- 
pear to  have  rested  as  lightly  upon  her  as  blown  foam 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  Southeast  Trade.  But  what- 
ever her  origin,  Ruth  Ingalls  is,  according  to  all  ac- 
counts, a  young  person  of  unlimited  balance  and  poise, 
has  a  good  education,  both  as  to  languages  and  music, 
and  is  possessed  of  a  quiet  and  modest  disposition.  She 
is,  moreover,  a  good  Christian  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  name,  and  her  work  in  the  mission  school  has  been 
of  incalculable  value  to  the  Fathers.  Her  interpretation 
of  the  character  of  the  Madonna  is  doubtless  somewhat 
naive,  but  is  said,  withal,  to  be  surprisingly  effective; 
her  work  in  this  part,  indeed,  being  generally  rated  as 
the  only  thing  in  the  Play  worthy  of  the  name  of  act- 
ing. 

Mile.  Ingalls,  it  is  claimed,  is  heart  whole  and  fancy 
free,  though  they  tell  you  in  Papeete  and  Taio-haie  that 
she  has  received  offers  of  marriage  from  every  bachelor 
missionary,  sailor,  official  and  trader  that  has  ever  come 
to  Uahuka. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TAIO-HAIE   TO   PAPEETE 

BEFORE  leaving  Nukahiva  the  four  of  us  from  the 
Lurline,  under  the  guidance  of  our  good  friend  Mc- 
Grath,  journeyed  on  pony-back  across  the  island  to 
visit  Queen  Mareu  of  Hatiheu.  The  road  led  over  two 
3,000-foot  mountain  passes  and  along  the  whole  length 
of  the  incomparable  Typee  Valley,  immortalized  by 
Herman  Melville,  and  though  something  like  eight 
inches  of  rain  fell  during  the  nine  hours  we  were  in  the 
saddle,  there  were  ample  intervals  between  cataclysms  in 
which  to  glimpse  the  beauties  by  the  way.  Lovely  as 
we  had  found  Taio-haie  and  Typee,  however,  the  glam- 
our of  their  charms  paled  before  the  supreme  grandeur 
of  the  bay  of  Hatiheu,  the  most  sublime  combination 
of  mountain,  vale,  and  sea  that  my  eyes  have  ever  rested 
on. 

The  cliff -girt  bay  of  Hatiheu,  like  those  others  of  Na- 
ture's superlatives,  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado, 
the  Victoria  Falls  of  the  Zambesi  and  the  Himalayas 
from  Darjeeling,  is  one  of  the  kind  of  things  that  makes 
a  man  feel  foolish  to  attempt  to  describe,  and  I  pay  my 
silent  tribute  in  the  thrill  which  never  fails  to  stir  my 
heart  at  the  mention  of  the  name.  My  photograph 
gives  a  suggestion — just  a  suggestion — of  what  a  single 
coup  d'ceil  reveals. 

Hatiheu  was  McGrath's  headquarters  where,  in  addi- 
tion to  conducting  a  trading  business  with  the  natives, 

no 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  ill 

he  appeared  to  act  as  a  sort  of  "Lord  Chamberlain"  to 
the  Queen.  Her  Highness  seemed  very  fond  of  the  at- 
tractive young  Canadian,  and  told  us  that  she  never 
took  action  in  important  "affairs  of  state"  without  first 
securing  his  advice.  His  word  appeared  to  be  law  in 
the  village,  and  I  never  heard  him  give  an  order  that 
was  not  instantly  carried  out.  He  told  off  a  body  serv- 
ant to  look  after  each  of  us  during  our  visit  to  Hati- 
heu,  the  one  allotted  to  Claribel  being  a  grizzled  old 
cannibal,  with  a  black  band  like  a  highwayman's  mask 
tattooed  across  his  face,  who  gave  her  a  stone  knife  which 
he  swore  he  had  himself  used  in  carving  "long-pig,"  and 
who  wept  disconsolately  on  her  departure. 

One  morning  McGrath  took  us  down  to  the  beach  and 
showed  us  with  justifiable  pride  a  half -completed  cut- 
ter— an  open  boat  of  about  thirty  feet  in  length  designed 
to  be  rigged  as  a  sloop — which  he  was  building  to  use 
in  picking  up  copra  from  other  villages  along  the  coast 
of  the  island.  All  of  the  wood  used  had  been  hewed 
from  trees  felled  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  beach, 
he  told  us,  and  all  of  the  work  was  being  done  with  his 
own  hands.  The  Commodore  discoursed  learnedly  on 
the  lines  and  construction  of  the  little  craft,  and  the 
rest  of  us  commended  its  builder  for  his  industry  and 
ingenuity.  No  one  of  us  dreamed  that  we  were  looking 
at  the  frame  of  a  boat  which  was  destined  shortly  to 
make  a  voyage  that  must  be  rated  for  all  time  as  one 
of  the  miracles  of  deep  sea  sailing. 

Our  intercourse  with  Queen  Mareu  was  somewhat 
restricted  as  a  result  of  having  to  be  carried  on  through 
the  medium  of  an  interpreter.  We  found  her  a  most 
personable  young  lady  of  about  twenty-five,  with  a  strik- 


112     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ing  face  and  figure  and  a  glint  of  sombre  fire  slumber- 
ing in  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes  that  indicated  temper 
or  temperament,  and  probably  both.  She  had  ascended 
the  "throne"  a  year  previously,  after  her  father,  the  late 
King,  had  slipped  on  a  ripe  mango  in  endeavouring  to 
elude  the  charge  of  a  wild  bull  he  was  hunting.  Her 
manifest  determination  to  rule  her  home  as  well  as  her 
people  was  responsible,  it  was  said,  for  the  flight  to 
Tahiti  of  her  husband — a  young  half-caste  of  little  ac- 
count— a  month  or  two  later.  Since  then  she  had  ruled 
alone.  Of  what  mind  she  was  in  the  matter  of  taking 
a  "Prince  Consort,"  we  were  unable  to  learn;  but  a 
tender  light  in  the  sloe  eyes  when  "Lord  Chamberlain" 
McGrath  was  about  might  have  furnished  a  clue  to  the 
trend  of  her  intentions.  Whatever  these  might  have 
been,  however,  Fate,  as  far  as  the  near  future  was  con- 
cerned, had  other  plans  incubating  for  the  slender,  blue- 
eyed  trader  to  whom  every  one  that  came  in  contact 
with  him  seemed  to  become  so  much  attached. 

The  print  holakau  or  Mother  Hubbard  wrapper— 
which  descended  upon  the  South  Seas  with  the  mission- 
aries— would  ordinarily  hardly  be  rated  as  a  regal  gar- 
ment; but  Mareu,  with  the  sweeping  lines  of  her  Dian- 
esque  figure  softly  outlined  by  the  clinging  calico,  car- 
ried hers  as  if  it  was  a  Grecian  robe,  and  was  distinctly 
— well,  I  noted  that  even  the  Commodore  was  keeping 
his  weather  eye  lifting  whenever  she  hove  above  the 
horizon.  But  she  was  at  her  best  when,  in  a  bathing 
suit  improvised  from  a  pareo,  she  sported  with  the  gay 
abandon  of  a  porpoise  in  a  natural  pool  of  pink  and  blue 
coral  where  the  beach  curved  up  to  the  base  of  the  great 
cliff,  or,  perched  cross-legged  in  the  stern  of  her  little 


O    K 
O     K 

P 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  113 

out-rigger  canoe,  sent  that  slender  craft,  a  sliver  of  shin- 
ing silver,  speeding  through  the  surf -swept  mazes  of  the 
outer  reef.  She  was  indeed  a  consummate  canoeist — 
quite  the  best  I  have  ever  seen — and  in  the  light  of  sub- 
sequent events  I  have  often  recalled  the  words  with 
which  McGrath  once  referred  to  her  skill  with  the  pad- 
dle. 

We  watched  from  the  thatched  roofed  veranda  of  Mc- 
Grath's  quarters  one  dewy-fresh  morning  when  the 
whistling  Trade  had  whipped  up  a  more  than  usually 
stiff  sea  outside,  the  course  of  Mareu's  canoe  where, 
with  Claribel  as  a  passenger,  she  was  shooting  the  break- 
ers as  they  came  booming  in  across  the  reef.  Suddenly 
the  even  line  of  the  horizon  was  blotted  out  by  the  loom 
of  a  roller  of  huge  bulk  and  weight — "the  Seventh  Son 
of  a  Seventh  Son,"  as  the  sailors  call  it  when  they  don't 
use  a  stronger  term. 

"She'll  hardly  try  that  one,"  muttered  McGrath  de- 
cisively; "it's  big  enough  to  founder  a  war  canoe."  And 
then,  as  the  helio  flashes  from  the  blade  of  a  swiftly  plied 
paddle  told  him  his  surmise  was  wrong,  "Good  God, 
there  she  goes!" 

The  canoe  gathered  momentum,  hung  for  a  few  mo- 
ments on  the  back  of  the  mounting  comber,  and  then 
"caught  on"  and  commenced  to  race.  Slowly  the  wave 
gathered  itself  together  and,  as  the  water  shallowed 
above  the  edge  of  the  reef,  curled  over  and  broke  with  a 
roar  that  rattled  the  glasses  on  the  arms  of  our  chairs. 
For  an  instant  nothing  was  visible  but  foam  and  spray 
and  tossing  waters;  then,  clinging  tenaciously  to  the 
comber's  flying  mane — as  a  panther,  teeth  in  neck  and 
safe  from  the  animal's  horns,  rides  the  stag  he  has 


114     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

tackled — appeared  the  little  canoe.  On  it  darted  like 
the  flash  of  a  sunbeam,  a  smoke  of  spray  rising  from  its 
bows  and  the  floundering  out-rigger  trailing  like  a 
broken  wing.  Twice  or  thrice,  as  the  tossing  waters 
gave  way  beneath  the  prow  and  the  slender  craft  seemed 
on  the  point  of  "somersaulting"  over  the  breaker's  brink, 
there  came  the  flash  of  a  steadying  paddle  and  the  equili- 
brium was  restored.  Now  the  roughest  of  the  ride  was 
over  and  a  swift  dash  of  a  hundred  yards  remained  be- 
fore still  water  was  reached.  Claribel,  game  but  chas- 
tened, still  lay  low  in  an  instinctive  endeavour  to  keep 
the  centre  of  gravity  down  near  the  keel  where  it  be- 
longed; but  Mareu,  mad  with  the  ecstasy  of  swift  mo- 
tion, leapt  up  to  a  hair-poised  balance  and,  swathed 
in  sheets  of  flying  spray,  finished  the  run  after  the  fash- 
ion of  that  other  Venus  who  was  born  of  the  sea-foam 
where  the  breakers  travailed  on  the  Cyprean  coast. 

I  saw  the  Commodore  lower  his  glass  with  a  gesture 
of  relief  where  he  had  watched  with  the  Mater  from  the 
veranda  of  the  Queen's  "palace,"  but  McGrath  was  only 
smiling. 

"If  there  was  a  reef  and  a  surf  hedging  in  the  jaws 
of  hell,  that  girl  would  try  and  shoot  the  passage  with 
never  a  thought  for  what  she  was  going  into  beyond," 
he  said  evenly  as  he  watched  her  beach  the  canoe  and 
help  Claribel  to  alight. 

Absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  but  still  with  his  eye  on  the 
girl,  McGrath  poured  himself  another  glass  of  ab- 
sinthe. Disdaining  the  aid  of  a  couple  of  her  boat- 
pullers,  she  dumped  the  water  from  the  canoe  and  hauled 
it  up  to  its  shelter  of  thatch  above  high-tide  mark; 
then,  like  a  spaniel  that  has  finished  its  swim,  she  gave 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  115 

herself  a  vigorous  shake,  so  that  her  wealth  of  glistening 
blue-black  hair  came  tumbling  down  and  swathed  her 
spray-wet  body  to  the  knees. 

"And  by  God! — "  McGrath  gave  vocal  expression  to 
the  thoughts  that  were  in  his  eyes — "with  Mareu  at  the 
paddle  I'd  run  the  jaws  of  hell  myself!" 

I  had  no  inkling  at  the  time  of  the  struggle  that  was 
going  on  in  the  man's  heart,  but  later  events,  coupled 
with  a  recollection  of  those  sudden  passionate  words, 
brought  me  to  something  of  an  understanding. 

On  the  last  day  of  our  visit  to  Hatiheu  the  Queen 
gave  a  great  feast  to  all  of  her  subjects,  the  members 
of  our  party  being  the  guests  of  honour.  The  food 
consisted  of  the  usual  run  of  Marquesan  delicacies,  but 
the  piece  de  resistance  was  the  great  bull  secured  on  the 
wild  cattle  hunt  which  McGrath  finally  succeeded  in 
arranging  at  the  last  moment.  It  was  cooked  whole  in 
a  huge  underground  oven  lined  with  stones,  from  which 
it  was  drawn  in  a  condition  to  suit  the  taste  of  an  epi- 
cure. Like  the  Mexican  barbecue,  this  method  of  cook- 
ing results  in  meat  that  is  delicious  enough  to  counter- 
act the  dis-appetizing  effects  of  the  disgusting  methods 
of  handling  it.  McGrath  kept  a  careful  eye  on  the 
toddy  calabashes,  so  that  the  feast,  as  Marquesan  feasts 
go,  was  a  very  prim  and  proper  affair.  Claribel,  who 
was  in  splendid  voice,  sang  several  English  and  Ha- 
waiian songs,  and  finally,  the  Marseillaise,  from  the 
"palace"  veranda.  The  latter,  with  which  many  of  the 
natives  appeared  to  be  familiar,  was  received  with  tu- 
multuous applause. 

At  the  Queen's  command  a  bevy  of  very  comely 
misses  from  the  mission  school  started  a  himine  or  hymn, 


116     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

to  the  tune  of  a  couple  of  tom-toms  and  a  concertina. 
Others  joined  in,  and  by  imperceptible  degrees  the  air 
was  changed  until,  almost  before  we  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened, it  had  become  a  rollicking  hula.     The  frantic 
protests  of  the  Mother  Superior  passed  unnoticed  in 
the  excitement,  and  not  until  that  outraged  individual 
had  seized  one  of  the  recalcitrants  (who,  yielding  to  the 
delirious  ab'andon  of  the  seductive  air,  had  begun  to 
dance),  and  led  her  off  by  the  ear  was  she  able  to  re- 
establish her  authority.     The  indignant  Mareu,  who  had 
no  love  for  the  missionaries  and  who  said  she  was  just 
getting  in  a  mood  to  dance  herself,  promptly  declared 
in  favour  of  bringing  the  spirited  little  singers  back  by 
force  and  letting  the  festivities  go  on;  but  the  diplo- 
matic McGrath,  scenting  "civil  war"  in  the  kingdom  of 
Hatiheu,  suggested  that,  as  we  all  were  to  start  at  day- 
break for  the  long  ride  back  to  Taio-haie,  it  might  be 
well  to  turn  in  and  get  a  few  hours'  sleep.     The  Queen 
continued  obdurate  and  would  probably  have  carried 
her  point  had  not  a  heavy  squall  come  roaring  in  from 
the  ocean  and  driven  the  whole  company  to  shelter. 

My  opportunities  for  studying  the  hula  in  Nukahiva, 
which  was  once  famous  as  the  home  of  the  greatest 
dancers  in  the  South  Pacific,  were  so  limited  that  it 
would  be  presumptuous  of  me  to  dogmatise.  I  might 
record  the  impression,  however,  that  it  is  a  spirited  and 
soul-stirring  performance,  and  has  this  in  common  with 
modern  "ragging"  and  "jazzing"  and  "shimmy-ing," 
that  it  leaves  nothing  to  the  imagination  on  the  points 
to  which  it  is  endeavouring  to  give  expression.  For 
this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  it  may  be  worth  preserving 
against  the  time  when  the  Pampas,  the  Sahara  and  the 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  117 

Barbary  Coast  of  California  are  incapable  longer  of 
giving  a  wriggle  or  a  "writhe"  sufficiently  suggestive  to 
stir  the  jaded  soul  of  Society.  Pulses  that  have  long 
refused  to  throb  a  beat  faster  in  the  tangle  of  the 
"tango,"  may  yet  have  the  life  to  quicken  in  the  sensuous 
abandon  of  the  Marquesan  hula.  And  in  fancy  cannot 
one  hear  it  all  over  again?  "The  'Hatiheu  Hug'  and  the 
'Taio-haie  Throttle' — who  says  they're  disgusting?  If 
one  wants  to  dance  them  disgustingly,  of  course — " 
How  long  will  it  be,  I  wonder? 

Queen  Mareu  and  her  retinue,  Her  Highness  in  a 
flowing  habit  of  print  and  tapa  and  sitting  an  imported 
French  side-saddle,  accompanied  us  back  to  Taio-haie, 
and  on  the  evening  preceding  our  departure  came  off 
to  the  yacht  for  dinner  and  fireworks.     Queen  Taone 
of  Anaho,  who  chanced  to  be  visiting  in  Taio-haie,  was 
another  of  the  distinguished  guests  on  this  occasion. 
Besides  royalty,  invitations  had  been  sent  to  every  one 
of  foreign  blood  on  the  island,  and  all,  with  the  exception 
of  John  Hilyard,  the  tattooed  man,  had  responded. 
French  officialdom,  brave  in  gold  lace  and  with  straggles 
of  orders  across  its  breasts,  was  out  en  masse;  three  of 
the  genial  Fathers  from  the  Catholic  mission,  one  of 
whom    entertained    us    with    several    selections    from 
"Faust,"  "Carmen"  and  "Trovatore,"  sung  in  a  magnifi- 
cent tenor,  also  honoured  us  with  their  presence,  as  did 
four  officers  from  trading  schooners  in  the  harbour, 
two  of  whom  were  in  pajamas  and  barefooted.     Cramer, 
the  German  trader,  was  choking  till  his  eyes  bulged 
in  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  a  Prussian  cavalry  regi- 
ment which  he  had  worn  as  a  slender  youth,  ten  years 


118     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

before.  McGrath  put  us  all  to  shame  by  appearing  in 
a  dress  suit,  the  fine  cut  of  which  puzzled  me  not  a  lit- 
tle until,  later  in  the  evening  when  he  had  thrown  it 
aside  in  my  cabin,  I  noticed  a  tab  with  "Poole"  upon  it 
on  the  inside  of  the  collar. 

Entertaining  royalty  is  ordinarily  a  thing  not  lightly 
to  be  courted,  but  one  has  to  get  used  to  it  in  the  South 
Pacific  and  after  a  while  comes  to  take  it  quite  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The  principal  accessories  required 
are  a  phonograph  or  a  music  box,  a  cabin-ful  of  plate 
glass  mirrors,  plenty  of  cool  drinks,  a  few  cases  of  fire- 
works, unlimited  bolts  of  print  and  an  inexhaustible  sup- 
ply of  barrels  of  salt  beef  and  boxes  of  canned  salmon. 
These  items,  properly  used,  will  insure  social  success 
to  the  veriest  tyro.  In  those  calid  latitudes,  where 
everything  else  appears  more  or  less  en  deshabille,  court 
etiquette  is  also  stripped  of  its  surplus  frills  and,  save 
for  occasional  disconcerting  surprises,  contains  little  to 
baffle  the  uninitiated. 

Queen  Mareu  had  dined  with  foreigners  many  times 
before  and  her  manners  were  impeccable.  Her  High- 
ness, Teona,  had  enjoyed  fewer  advantages  than  her 
sister  sovereign  of  Hatiheu,  but  even  she — except  for 
a  little  bad  luck  in  inhaling  some  champagne  which  she 
was  endeavouring  to  make  run  down  her  throat  and 
thereby  inducing  coughing  fits  which  nothing  but  roll- 
ing on  the  carpet  seemed  to  have  any  efficacy  in  check- 
ing— deported  herself  most  creditably.  She  was,  to  be 
sure,  irresistibly  attracted  by  the  agreeable  salty  taste 
of  a  long  lock  of  her  f oretop  which  got  into  the  soup  in 
the  opening  round,  so  that  she  returned  to  it  in  all  of  the 
intervals  between  the  courses  which  followed,  and  the 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  119 

careless  informality  of  her  action  in  emptying  the  con- 
tents of  the  bowl  of  lump  sugar  into  the  bosom  of  her 
holakau  might  have  been  greeted  with  raised  eyebrows 
at  Newport,  or  Cowes,  or  Cannes,  but  the  quiet,  uncon- 
scious dignity  of  it  all  proved  that  she  was  at  least  "to 
the  manor  born"  in  the  South  Pacific  and  quite  dis- 
armed criticism. 

Dinner  over,  Queen  Mareu  retired  to  a  reclining  chair 
by  the  taffrail  and  sat  apart,  moody  and  distrait,  all  of 
the  evening,  not  any  too  pleased,  apparently,  to  have 
her  handsome  "Lord  Chamberlain"  so  much  monopol- 
ized by  the  visitors.  Queen  Teona,  on  the  other  hand, 
glad  of  the  chance  to  become  the  centre  of  interest,  was 
all  smiles  and  animation.  Seated  at  ease  on  the  rail 
of  the  cockpit,  with  one  dainty  brown  foot  thrust  through 
the  spokes  of  the  wheel  and  the  other  polishing  the  brass 
binnacle,  she  related — through  Cramer  as  interpreter — 
stories  which  she  had  heard  from  her  grandfather  of  the 
time  when  Nukahiva  was  the  rendezvous  of  the  Pacific 
whaling  fleet,  tales  only  less  terrible  than  those  of  the 
days  when  the  buccaneers  held  high  revel  in  the  old  can- 
nibal feast  ground  at  Hatiheu ;  recitals,  in  fact,  which  I 
rather  fancy  the  shrewd  Teuton  toned  down  consider- 
ably in  translation. 

At  little  tables  on  the  quarter  deck  the  French  offi- 
cers mixed  cool  green  drinks  from  specially-provided 
bottles  of  absinthe,  and  in  the  cabin,  bowed  over  a  chart, 
the  trading  captains  gave  the  Commodore  careful  di- 
rections for  threading  the  passages  of  the  treacherous 
Paumotos.  On  the  forward  deck  Their  Highnesses' 
retinues  fraternized  with  the  Lurline's  crew  over  a  case 
of  Yankee  beer,  now  the  sailors  raising  their  voices  in  a 


120     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

chantey,  now  the  natives  in  a  himine,  and  now  both  to- 
gether in  indiscriminate  "chantey-himines"  and  "himine- 
chanteys." 

In  the  whole  cruise's  necklace  of  tropical  nights  that 
one  shines  forth  with  a  sparkle  all  its  own.  As  the 
afterglow  faded  above  the  opaque  mass  of  cliffs  behind 
the  village,  the  trade-wind  shifted  slightly  and  came  to 
us  across  the  blossom-clothed  spurs  to  the  southeast, 
suffusing,  as  with  a  draught  of  incense  from  the  open 
door  of  an  Eastern  temple,  the  whole  hollow  of  the  bay 
in  the  drowsy  perfume  of  the  yellow  cassi.  As  the  pur- 
ple shadows  banked  deeper  on  the  ebony  water  and  night 
crept  out  from  the  black  valleys  of  the  mountains  lights 
began  twinkling  here  and  there  in  the  bush,  and  pres- 
ently the  lines  of  the  verandas  of  the  official  residence 
were  picked  out  in  rows  of  coloured  lanterns.  The  surf 
broke  uproariously  along  the  shore  in  bursts  of  phos- 
phorescent flame,  and  in  its  pauses  the  barbaric  cadences 
of  himines  and  hulas  floated  out  to  us  across  the  star- 
paved  surface  of  the  bay.  On  this,  though  they  seemed 
to  tickle  the  royal  fancies,  the  fireworks  broke  somewhat 
in  the  nature  of  an  anti-climax. 

To  the  good  Teona's  passion  for  "seeing  the  wheels 
go  round"  was  due  the  fact  that  the  fireworks  tickled 
something  besides  her  royal  fancy.  She  had  been  per- 
mitted to  pull  the  lanyard  of  the  signal  gun  for  half  a 
dozen  salutes,  to  put  the  match  to  several  kicking  rock- 
ets, and  had  just  touched  off  her  second  fistful  of  Ro- 
man candles  when  the  trouble  occurred.  The  paper 
tubes  were  popping  forth  their  multi-coloured  contents 
in  blazing  showers  when  Her  Highness,  her  face  ashine 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  121 

with  perspiration  and  pleasure,  reversed  them  in  an  ill- 
advised  attempt  to  see  where  the  bright  little  balls  came 
from. 

In  an  instant  a  good  half  dozen  or  more  of  the  purple 
pellets  had  popped  into  the  neck  of  the  unlucky  queen's 
voluminous  holakau,  seeking  extinguishment  somewhere 
in  the  oil-glistening  reaches  of  Her  Highness'  plump 
shoulders.  That  the  sufferer  raked,  as  with  a  gatling 
gun,  the  rest  of  the  party  with  her  sputtering  candles 
in  the  pain  and  consternation  of  the  first  touch  of  the 
burning  balls  of  calcium  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at 
under  the  circumstances;  and  it  only  made  the  more 
admirable  the  manner  in  which  she  pulled  herself  to- 
gether and  tossed  the  spitting  fire-sticks  overboard  be- 
fore dignifiedly  retiring  down  the  gangway  to  bathe 
her  burns  in  salt  water.  Later  in  the  evening  she  rose 
to  another  trying  emergency  with  equal  aplomb  in  seiz- 
ing an  erupting  ginger  ale  bottle  from  one  of  her  be- 
fuddled hand-maidens  and  smothering  it  in  the  latter's 
flowered  pareo  in  order  to  save  the  dignity  and  the  gold- 
laced  uniform  of  the  Residente  who,  being  corpulent, 
had  become  temporarily  wedged  in  his  deck  chair  and 
was  unable  to  dodge  the  sizzling  amber  jet.  This,  I 
may  mention,  was  only  the  forerunner  of  many  trying 
experiences  that  were  in  store  for  us  as  the  result  of  the 
violent  unrest  that  enters  into  the  contents  of  a  bottle 
of  champagne  or  mineral  water  that  is  carried  in  im- 
perfectly protected  lockers  on  tropical  seas. 

At  noon,  on  the  15th  of  April,  the  Nukahiva,  a  French 
schooner  of  about  seventy  tons — the  "greyhound"  of  the 


122     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Marquesan  trading  fleet — hove  up  anchor  and  got  un- 
der weigh  for  the  entrance  with  the  courteously  avowed 
intention  of  showing  us  the  way  to  Tahiti. 

"Venez  nous  voir  en  arrwant  a  Papeete!"  her  captain 
shouted  as  she  came  up  past  us  and  went  about;  and 
ffMerci — avec  plasir!"  we  faltered  back  as  we  waved  him 
a  vigorous  au  revoir  with  our  napkins  from  the  compan- 
ionway. 

At  one  o'clock  we  were  under  weigh  ourselves,  beat- 
ing out  against  such  baffling  puffs  of  the  trade-wind  as 
found  their  way  to  the  inner  bay.  Sailing  within  four 
points  of  the  wind  in  the  smooth  water  of  the  narrow 
passage,  by  two  o'clock  Lurline  had  overcome  the  hour's 
lead  of  the  Nukahiva,  and  a  few  minutes  later  passed 
ahead  and  well  to  the  windward  of  her  through  the  "Sen- 
tinels." 

A  number  of  our  newly-made  friends  had  come  down 
to  the  beach  to  wave  us  bon  voyage,  but  the  one  to  whom 
our  glasses  turned  the  oftenest  was  a  white  clad  figure 
that  had  stood  immovable  under  the  shade  of  a  coco 
palm  while  the  yacht  was  in  sight  and  which,  as  the 
southerly  "Sentinel"  began  to  blot  our  tower  of  sail, 
had  sunk  down  into  a  dejected  heap  upon  the  coral 
clinkers.  The  memories  and  the  thoughts  of  the  "Out- 
side World"  which  our  coming  had  conjured  up  for 
McGrath,  the  man  who  was  trying  to  forget  the  "Out- 
side World,"  had  proved  almost  too  much  for  him. 

That  pathetic  little  white  heap  on  the  beach  of  Taio- 
haie  was  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  the  young  trader  who 
had  done  so  much  to  make  our  visit  to  Nukahiva  a 
memorable  one,  and  whom  we  had  all  come  to  like  so 
well.  Some  weeks  later,  in  Tahiti,  I  received  a  letter 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  123 

from  Cramer  telling  how  McGrath,  accompanied  by  a 
single  native  boy  and  with  a  pitifully  small  stock  of 
provisions,  had  been  blown  off  to  sea  during  a  storm  in 
the  little  cutter  he  was  building  when  we  were  at  Hati- 
heu,  and  had  been  given  up  for  lost.  And  it  was  as 
lost  that  we  mourned  our  good  friend  during  all  the 
rest  of  the  cruise  and  for  many  months  afterward  until, 
one  day,  came  the  following  letter,  written  from  Tahiti : 
(I  give  the  essential  parts  of  it  verbatim  for  the  especial 
benefit  of  those  yachtsmen  who  are  prone  to  feel  them- 
selves the  victims  of  hard  luck  at  having  to  spend  a 
summer  night  out  of  port  in  a  snug,  decked-over  forty- 
footer.) 

"I  have  had  a  rather  exciting  time  of  it  for  the  last 
six  months,  having  been  blown  away  from  the  Mar- 
quesas group  in  the  little  boat  which  I  was  building 
when  you  called  at  the  islands.  It  was  owing  to  the 
unshipping  of  the  rudder,  and  as  the  boat  had  an  over- 
hanging stern  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  re-ship  it  for 
four  days,  owing  to  the  heavy  sea.  We  had  no  oars 
with  which  to  guide  the  boat,  otherwise  I  might  have 
fetched  the  lee  of  Nukahiva.  We  were  more  than  two 
hundred  miles  west  of  the  group  when  we  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  rudder  repaired,  and  had  but  a 
gallon  of  water  left.  As  it  then  fell  calm  I  decided  to 
run  for  Caroline,  with  the  breeze  and  strong  current  in 
our  favour,  and  made  the  island  O.K.  within  an  hour 
of  the  time  I  calculated.  To  say  that  I  had  a  hell  of  a 
time  is  putting  it  mildly.  After  trying  twice  to  make 
Tahiti,  and  running  into  a  southeast  gale  each  time,  I 
ran  for  Samoa,  and  the  last  five  days  of  the  run  had  the 


124     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

full  force  of  the  hurricane  which  swept  the  whole  of  the 
South  Pacific  from  June  12th  to  18th.  It  was  so  fierce 
that  the  Sierra — a  6,300-ton  steamer  of  the  American- 
Australian  Line — was  blown  away  from  the  Samoas 
and  could  not  effect  an  entrance.  Several  vessels  were 
piled  up  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Samoa,  and  many  dis- 
masted; yet  my  boy  and  I  lived  it  out  in  a  perfectly 
open  boat. 

"We  were  blown  away  on  the  7th  of  May,  and  made 
Tutuila  on  the  18th  of  June,  after  having  sailed  more 
than  3,000  miles.  The  boat  filled  once,  twelve  miles 
from  Pago  tago,  and  almost  sank,  but  we  threw  every- 
thing overboard  to  lighten  her,  baled  her  out,  and  then 
slashed  her  through  it  with  reefed  foresail.  She  was 
the  finest  sea  boat  that  ever  split  a  wave,  and  a,t  Samoa 
beat  a  twenty-tone  schooner  seventeen  hours  in  a  gale 
of  wind  from  Savaii  to  Apia — a  dead  beat  of  sixty 
miles." 

McGr-ath's  letter  went  on  to  tell  of  how  he  had  sold 
his  little  cutter  in  Samoa,  journeyed  to  Sydney  by 
steamer,  travelled  for  some  months  in  Australasia,  and 
was  finally  in  Tahiti  en  voyage  to  his  old  post  in  the 
Marquesas.  Subsequent  letters  received  by  the  Com- 
modore from  Tahiti  were  calculated  to  cast  considerable 
doubt  on  McGrath's  story  of  having  been  blown  away 
from  Nukahiva  in  a  storm,  and  hinted  at  shortages  of 
accounts  and  other  things.  It  is  quite  possible  these 
charges  are  true — it  will  make  no  difference  with  our 
memory  of  the  man  if  they  are — but  if  they  are,  the  ques- 
tion that  suggests  itself  is,  "Why  did  McGrath,  after 
successfully  reaching  Australia,  come  back  again  to  the 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  125 

Marquesas?"  At  last  accounts  he  was  back  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  cliffs  of  Hatiheu  where,  I  sincerely 
hope,  his  high-strung  spirit  has  ceased  to  be  troubled 
by  the  conflicting  impulses  to  which  he  was  a  prey  dur- 
ing the  final  days  of  our  visit  to  Nukahiva.  The  story 
of  McGrath  cannot  be  told  yet,  for  the  reason  that  one 
of  the  strangest  of  its  drama  is  still  unplayed;  when  it 
is  written,  if  ever,  I  have  gleaned  just  enough  of  what 
has  gone  before  to  know  that  the  record  will  be  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  that  has  ever  been  given  to  the 
world. 

Of  McGrath's  voyage  in  an  open  boat  from  the  Mar- 
quesas to  Samoa,  I  will  comment  here  no  more  than  to 
say  that,  whether  he  was  cast  away  or  deliberately  em- 
barked upon  it,  it  has  gone  on  record  as  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  achievements  of  its  kind  in  marine  history. 
The  Lurline  encountered,  between  Samoa  and  Fiji,  the 
same  hurricane  which  McGrath  refers  to  in  his  letter, 
and  when  I  describe  that  stupendous  disturbance  as  it 
appeared  to  us  on  one  of  the  staunchest  ninety-footers 
ever  built,  I  will  also  call  attention  to  the  fact  that,  five 
hundred  miles  to  the  northeast,  a  white  man  and  a  Mar- 
quesan  boy,  half  dead  from  lack  of  food  and  sleep,  were 
pointing  up  the  prow  of  a  pitiful  little  thirty-foot  open 
cutter  to  the  same  mountainous  seas  and  roaring  winds. 

Clearing  the  harbour  of  Taio-haie,  sheets  were  slacked 
off  and,  with  a  strong  beam  wind,  we  bowled  away  on 
a  S.W.  %  S.  course  at  a  gait  which  presaged  a  lively 
passage  if  it  could  be  kept  up.  At  3:15  we  took  our 
departure  with  the  conspicuous  Cape  Maartens  bearing 
N.E.  and  an  unnamed  point  on  the  west  end  of  the 


126     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

island  N.  by  W.     At  this  time  the  Nukahiva  was  al- 
ready hull  down  astern. 

Encouraged  by  the  first  prospect  of  a  steady  and  fa- 
vourable slant  of  wind  since  we  left  San  Pedro,  a  good 
spread  of  sail  was  hoisted,  which,  as  the  barometer  was 
high  and  the  sky  unthreatening,  it  was  hoped  could  be 
carried  all  night.  The  sea  was  light,  and  in  a  gushingly 
fresh  wind  the  yacht  reeled  off  ten  and  eleven  knots  an 
hour  all  through  the  first  watch.  The  breeze  fell  lighter 
after  midnight,  however,  and  squalls  in  the  morning 
and  early  forenoon  made  it  impossible  to  carry  the  light 
sails,  considering  which  the  run  of  195  miles  for  the 
twenty-two  hours  ending  at  noon  of  the  16th  was  very 
creditable  work. 

By  the  afternoon  of  the  16th  we  were  clear  of  the 
treacherous  squall  belt  around  the  islands,  and  the 
strong,  steady  Trade  from  the  E.S.E.  drove  the  yacht 
along  at  an  almost  undeviating  speed,  the  log  varying 
scarcely  two-tenths  from  ten  knots  for  any  hour.  To- 
ward evening  the  benefit  of  a  strengthening  wind  was 
offset  by  a  rising  sea,  and  through  the  latter  hours  of  the 
night  we  proceeded  under  shortened  sail.  At  daybreak 
the  light  sails  were  clapped  on  again  and  for  several 
hours  of  the  forenoon  but  a  shade  under  eleven  knots 
was  averaged.  At  noon  the  dead-reckoning  showed 
close  to  230  miles  logged  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours, 
and  when  the  position  by  observation  was  figured  it  ap- 
peared that  a  favourable  set  of  current  had  added 
enough  to  this  to  bring  the  day's  run  up  to  an  even  240 
miles.  The  temperature  of  the  air  was  86°  this  day — 
the  highest  recorded  during  the  voyage — and  that  of 
the  water  was  82°. 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  127 

At  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the  17th  a  rag- 
tag of  fringe  was  reported  off  to  the  S.S.W.,  and  word 
went  around  that  we  were  sighting  the  first  of  the  dread 
Paumotos.  This  group— .of  ten  down  on  the  charts  as  the 
Tuamotu,  Low  or  Dangerous  Archipelago, — is  a  clus- 
ter of  a  hundred  or  more  coral  atolls  covering  several 
degrees  of  both  latitude  and  longitude  of  the  extreme 
southwest  corner  of  Polynesia.  They  are  noted  for 
their  treacherous  currents  and  terrific  hurricanes,  and 
are  reputed  to  have  had  more  schooners  piled  up  on 
their  white  coral  beaches  than  any  other  half  dozen 
groups  in  the  South  Pacific.  The  name  is  a  byword 
for  all  that  is  bad  with  every  skipper  who  has  sailed 
among  them,  and  "Aussi  sale  que  dans  ces  maudits  Pau- 
motos" is  the  last  degree  of  superlative  in  describing 
desperate  navigating  conditions.  Of  harbours  there  is 
none  save  the  lagoons  of  the  atolls  themselves,  and  the 
entrances  to  these  are  so  narrow  and  so  beset  by  cur- 
rents that  the  passage  of  them  is  almost  impossible 
except  at  the  turn  of  the  tide,  and  is  highly  dangerous 
even  then.  Once  inside  the  lagoon,  however,  the  pro- 
tection from  everything  but  hurricanes  is  perfect. 

The  average  life  of  a  trading  or  pearling  schooner 
in  the  Paumotos  is  but  four  or  five  years,  and  so  no- 
toriously world-wide  is  their  reputation  as  a  marine 
graveyard  that  neither  in  Europe,  Australia  nor  Amer- 
ica can  a  ship  be  insured  that  is  plying  in  their  trade. 
It  is  even  the  custom  to  insert  in  the  policy  of  a  vessel 
running  to  adjacent  islands  a  clause  declaring  that  no 
insurance  will  be  paid  should  the  ship,  by  any  chance, 
be  lost  in  the  Paumotos. 

The  island  we  had  sighted  turned  out  to  be  Ahii,  one 


128     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  the  largest  of  the  group,  and  by  five  o'clock  it  had 
grown  from  a  colourless  horizontal  blur  to  a  solid  wall 
of  white  and  brown  and  green,  where  the  snowy  beach 
ran  up  to  the  dark  boles  of  the  coco  palms,  and  these 
in  turn  ran  out  in  fringes  of  lacquered  verdancy.  At  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile  our  course  was  altered  slightly 
to  parallel  that  of  the  shore  line,  and  in  a  rapidly  smooth- 
ing sea,  but  with  an  unabated  breeze,  we  began  running 
down  the  low,  even  leeward  coast  of  the  strange  island. 
From  the  deck  only  the  coco  palm  barrier,  a  tossing 
mass  of  up-ended  feather  dusters,  met  the  eye  to  wind- 
ward, but  from  the  shrouds,  through  rifts  in  the  line, 
could  be  seen  great  green  gashes  of  the  smooth  lagoon. 
Farther  still,  in  blended  brown  -and  olive,  the  windward 
rim  of  the  island  stood  out  sharply  against  a  vivid  tur- 
quoise ribbon  of  open  sea,  itself  defined  against  a  dusky 
mass  of  cumulo-nimbus  that  was  rolling  in  before  the 
Trade  from  the  southeast. 

Here  followed  a  spell  of  the  prettiest  sailing  that  the 
good  Lurline,  sapient  of  the  seas  of  many  latitudes,  ever 
did,  or  probably  ever  will  do.  We  were  sufficiently 
close  to  the  steep-to  lee  shore  of  the  great  atoll  to  be 
sailing  in  a  sea  as  smooth  as  the  land-locked  lagoon 
itself,  yet  at  the  same  time  were  far  enough  beyond  the 
barrier  of  the  coco  palms  still  to  enjoy  the  full  force  of 
a  moderately  strong  and  remarkably  steady  breeze, 
We  were  anxious  not  to  get  too  far  in  among  the  islands 
during  the  night,  and  for  this  reason  no  light  sails  were 
set;  yet  under  mainsail,  foresail,  forestay-sail  and  jib 
the  log  was  shortly  spinning  up  mile  after  mile  with  six 
minutes  and  less  of  interval  between  each  bell. 

The  wind  was  on  the  port  beam,  and  blowing  so 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  129 

smoothly  that  the  yacht,  unshaken  by  the  lift  or  slap  of 
waves,  held  to  her  even  heel  as  though  chocked  over  in 
the  ways.  Of  pitch  or  roll  or  shiver  there  was  no  sign, 
and  for  all  the  motion  but  that  swift,  undeviating  for- 
ward glide,  she  might  have  been  frozen  up  in  a  fresh 
water  lake.  She  simply  shore  her  way  through  the 
water  as  a  draper's  clerk  runs  his  unworked  scissors 
down  a  length  of  silk. 

At  dinner  in  the  cabin  the  unprecedented  stillness  was 
almost  oppressive.  The  familiar  creaking  of  the  inlay- 
ing on  the  mainmast  at  the  head  of  the  table  was  no 
longer  heard,  nor  the  crash  of  waves  and  the  rattle  of 
spray  to  windward,  nor  the  shrill  of  spinning  sheaves 
and  the  rat-a-tat  of  the  foresheet  block  on  the  deck. 
The  only  sounds  were  unwonted  ones — the  tick  of  £he 
cabin  clock,  the  rattle  of  pans  in  the  galley,  the  not 
over-elegant  flow  of  post-prandial  conversation  in  the 
forecastle,  and  running  through  all,  the  hissing  rush  of 
the  water  along  the  sides. 

The  sun  had  set  while  we  were  at  dinner,  and  the 
afterglow,  in  swift  tropic  transitions,  had  flamed  and 
faded  and  flamed  again,  and  was  fading  out  for  the  last 
time  as  we  came  on  deck.  The  sea  to  the  west  still 
glimmered  here  and  there  in  patches  of  dull  rose  from 
the  reflections  of  a  few  still-lighted  tufts  of  cirrus  cloud. 
North  and  south  it  was  darkly  purple,  shading  to  a 
misty  slatiness  where  water  and  sky  merged  in  banks 
of  low-hanging  strati,  and  east  to  the  island  it  lay 
dead  and  opaque,  save  for  the  spots  where  it  was  pricked 
into  life  by  the  images  of  the  brightening  stars.  Over- 
head the  Pleiades  and  Orion's  Belt  and  Sirius,  the  Dog 
Star,  were  turning  from  pale  yellow  to  orange,  and 


130     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

from  orange  to  lambent  gold;  to  the  north  the  Big 
Dipper,  half  submerged  in  the  sea,  was  tipping  up 
slowly  to  pour  out  its  nocturnal  libation  to  its  stately 
vis-a-vis,  the  Southern  Cross.  And  under  it  all,  swiftly, 
silently,  mysteriously  as  the  Flying  Dutchman,  her 
track  marked  for  a  mile  astern  by  a  comet-like  wake  of 
vivid  gold,  Lurline  went  slipping  down  the  lee  of  the 
long  atoll  at  an  easy,  even,  effortless  ten  knots  an  hour. 

Presently,  just  as  twilight  was  giving  way  to  full 
darkness,  a  red  light  was  reported  crossing  our  bows, 
and  we  shortly  made  out  a  two-masted  schooner  beating 
in  toward  the  entrance  to  the  lagoon,  nearly  opposite 
to  which  we  were  then  sailing.  Several  times  across  the 
still  water  came  the  strangely  mixed  jumble  of  French 
and  Kanaka  and  English  orders,  mingling  with  the  creak 
of  booms  as  she  was  put  about,  and  finally  the  voice  of 
the  skipper  cursing  fluently  because  the  tide  was  run- 
ning faster  in  the  passage  than  was  to  his  apparent 
taste.  Then  a  great  yellow  moon  got  up  and  sat  upon 
the  farther  fringe  of  the  lagoon,  and  back  and  forth 
across  the  face  of  it  we  watched  the  little  schooner  beat 
in  safely  through  the  narrow  passage.  As  she  left  the 
moon  path  a  bonfire  sprang  into  life  somewhere  upon 
the  inner  beach,  and  through  the  serried  ranks  of  the 
coco  palms  we  saw  her  pink  sails  crumple  up  as  hal- 
yards were  let  go,  while  the  sharp  staccato  of  a  chain 
running  through  a  hawse  pipe  floating  down  the  wind 
told  that  she  had  won  her  anchorage. 

At  nine  o'clock  it  was  decided  to  pass  to  the  west  of 
the  island  of  Rangaroa,  instead  of  to  the  east  as  had  been 
our  intention,  and  to  this  end  the  course  was  altered  to 
W.  by  S.  To  minimize  the  chance  of  overrunning  our 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  131 

reckoning  in  the  treacherous  currents  and  thereby  pil- 
ing up  the  yacht  on  the  beach  of  Tikehau  which  lay  be- 
yond Rangaroa,  foresail  and  jib  were  furled,  only  the 
mainsail  and  forestay-sail  remaining  set.  Even  under 
this  greatly  reduced  sail  seven  knots  an  hour  were  aver- 
aged all  night,  daybreak  finding  us  off  the  northwest 
corner  of  Rangaroa.  Down  the  lee  of  this  island — un- 
der sailing  conditions  only  less  perfect  than  those  of  the 
previous  evening — we  ran  all  the  forenoon  of  the  18th, 
sinking  its  southwest  corner  early  in  the  afternoon,  just 
as  we  raised  a  peak  of  the  combined  coral  and  volcanic 
island  of  Makatea. 

Makatea  is  famous  as  having  been  the  rendezvous  of 
the  notorious  Marquesan  half-caste,  Boraki,  quite  the 
most  picturesque  pirate  who  ever  operated  in  that  cor- 
ner of  the  South  Pacific.  The  story  of  the  retributive 
justice  which  overtook  Boraki  while  endeavouring  to 
cut  out  and  capture  a  missionary  schooner  sent  to  con- 
ciliate and  convert  him  is  one  of  the  most  amazing  yarns 
ever  told,  and  the  antithetic  variations  of  it  that  come 
from  the  opposite  poles  of  "traderdom"  and  "mission- 
dom"  are  alone  worth  journeying  to  the  South  Seas 
to  listen  to.  I  shall  endeavour,  later,  to  set  down  the 
account  we  heard — from  the  lips  of  one  of  the  principal 
actors  in  the  remarkable  drama — on  a  memorable  eve- 
ning when  the  yacht  lay  at  anchor  in  Suva  Bay,  Fiji. 

As  day  broke  on  the  19th  the  mist- wreathed  peak  of 
Orohena,  the  backbone  of  Tahiti,  took  form  a  point  or 
two  off  the  port  bow,  and  a  little  later  the  jumbled  sky- 
line of  Moorea  began  to  appear  in  a  similar  position  to 
starboard.  The  sun  rose  gorgeously  behind  a  flank  of 
the  larger  island,  the  blazing  southeast  setting  off  in 


132     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

marvellous  silhouette  the  matchless  "Diadem,"  the  crown 
jewel  of  all  Tahiti's  beauty.  "The  Diadem"  is  the 
name  given  to  a  row  of  little  peaks  occupying  the  di- 
vide between  the  two  great  volcanoes  that  dominate  the 
east  and  west  ends  of  the  island.  They  are  so  sym- 
metrically and  evenly  set  that  the  most  unimaginative 
cannot  fail  to  see  their  resemblance  to  the  points  of  a 
king's  crown,  a  likeness  all  the  more  striking  when  each 
point  is  tipped  with  gold  and  the  whole  surmounted 
with  a  halo  of  light  from  the  rising  sun. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  tall,  white  pillar  of  the  Point 
Venus  Light — so  called  because  Captain  Cook  took  his 
observations  of  the  transit  of  the  planet  Venus  from 
this  promontory  on  June  3rd,  1769 — could  be  discerned 
towering  above  the  coco  palms  that  engulfed  its  base, 
and  an  hour  later  it  was  abeam,  with  the  bay  of  Papeete 
opening  up  beyond.  This  name,  meaning  "Basket  of 
Water,"  gives  a  comprehensive  description  of  Tahiti's 
chief  harbour.  The  bay  itself  is  but  half  land-locked 
by  the  mainland,  but  across  what  would  otherwise  be  a 
comparatively  open  roadstead  runs  a  partially  sub- 
merged reef,  which,  except  for  the  narrowest  of  pas- 
sages, completely  cuts  it  off  from  the  sea.  Inside  is 
a  mile  of  deep  water  and  a  shore  so  bold-to  that  the 
trading  schooners  tie  up  to  the  trees  and  load  from  and 
discharge  to  the  bank. 

At  8 :30  we  were  off  the  entrance,  and,  as  the  sailing 
directions  were  plain  and  the  marks  unmistakable,  the 
Commodore  decided  to  go  in  without  a  pilot.  The 
wind,  which  we  had  carried  on  our  port  quarter  since 
daybreak,  was  brought  up  abeam  as  we  altered  our 
course  and  headed  into  the  passage.  It  blew  strongly 


TAIO-HAIE  TO  PAPEETE  133 

and  steadily,  and  to  the  nine  or  ten-knot  gait  at  which 
it  was  driving  us  was  added  the  four  or  five-knot  run 
of  a  flood  tide.  The  yacht  raced  through  the  passage, 
as  the  Port  Captain  shortly  tried  to  tell  us  in  broken 
English,  "like  ze  diable  try  catch  her,"  and  during  all 
of  our  stay  in  the  island  we  were  constantly  called  upon 
to  deny  the  persistent  rumour  that  she  was  equipped 
with  power.  Several  who  witnessed  our  entrance  from 
the  shore  even  went  so  far  as  to  aver  that  they  distinctly 
saw  blue  smoke  trailing  off  astern,  a  phenomenon  which 
never  came  nearer  to  explanation  than  when  Gus,  a 
big  Swede  of  the  mate's  watch  who  was  at  the  wheel  on 
the  occasion  in  question,  admitted  that  he  did  "sware  a 
leetle  when  she  go  joost  lak  hell"  out  of  sheer  excite- 
ment. 

We  anchored  a  couple  of  cable's  lengths  off  the  Brit- 
ish Consulate,  having  made  the  800  miles  from  Nuka- 
hiva  in  a  little  over  three  and  three-quarters  days,  eleven 
hours  of  which  were  run  under  mainsail  and  forestay- 
sail  only  in  the  lee  of  Rangaroa.  The  best  previous 
record  was  between  four  and  five  days. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CIRCLING   TAHITI 

THE  island  of  Tahiti  has  been  the  best  known,  or 
rather  the  most  talked-about,  point  in  the  South  Pacific 
since  those  latitudes  were  added  to  the  mapped  sec- 
tions of  the  world.  From  the  time  that  the  much- 
maundered-over  mutiny  of  the  Bounty  furnished  the 
theme  for  Byron's  "Island,"  and  later  events  conspired 
to  produce  Hermann  Melville's  charming  "Omoo"  and 
Pierre  Loti's  idyllic  "Rarahue,"  down  to  the  more 
numerous  but  less  finished  efforts  of  recent  years,  Tahiti 
has  been  the  inspiration  for  more  literary  endeavour, 
good  and  bad,  than  all  the  rest  of  Polynesia,  Melanesia 
and  Micronesia  combined.  Undoubtedly  it  has  had 
more  than  its  share  of  publicity — latterly,  largely  be- 
cause it  is  so  easily  and  comfortably  reached  from  both 
America  and  Australia — but  the  fact  remains  that  it 
is  uniquely — if  not  quite  unmixedly — charming,  and  that 
it  is  perhaps  better  fitted  to  minister  to  the  creature 
comforts  of  the  visitor  than  any  other  of  its  sister  islands 
of  the  South  Pacific. 

Civilization  in  the  form  of  the  galvanized  iron  roof, 
the  glass  window,  the  missionary,  the  holakau  or  Mother 
Hubbard  wrapper  and  the  whisky  bottle  has  thrown 
its  coldly  corrective  influence  over  the  native  life  of 
Tahiti;  but  if  it  is  the  Kanaka  in  his  pristine  purity  that 
one  is  seeking,  Moorea  and  Bora-Bora — both  in  the  So- 
ciety Group — and  the  Paumotos  and  Marquesas  are 

134 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  135 

close  at  hand,  and  any  of  these  the  venturesome  may 
reach  by  trading  schooner,  even  if  he  is  not  so  fortunate 
as  to  have  a  yacht  at  his  disposal. 

Chief  item  in  the  visitor's  program  in  Tahiti — after 
he  has  called  on  the  Governor,  appeared  at  the  Club 
and  spent  a  small  sack  of  Chilean  pesos  to  see  a  hula 
which  has  been  so  completely  "expurgated  and  legal- 
ized" as  to  make  a  Maypole  dance  on  the  green  in  his 
old  home  appear  Bacchanalian  by  comparison — is  the 
hundred-mile  drive  around  the  island.  The  roads  are 
bad  over  half  the  way  and  the  vehicles  all  the  way,  but 
the  ride  unfolds  such  an  unending  panorama  of  sea,  surf 
and  lagoon;  of  beach  and  reef;  of  mountain,  cliff  and 
crag;  of  torrent,  cascade  and  waterfall,  and  of  reckless, 
riotous,  onrushing  tropical  vegetation  as  can  be  found 
along  few,  if  any,  similar  stretches  of  road  elsewhere  in 
the  world.  Our  drive,  in  the  company  of  the  American 
Consul,  William  Doty,  and  his  sister,  on  which  we  were 
entertained  each  day  by  a  different  district  chief  with 
specially-arranged  surf -rides,  feasts,  dances  and  himines, 
was  one  unbroken  succession  of  new  and  delightful  sen- 
sations. 

At  Tautira,  the  village  second  in  importance  to  Pa- 
peete, we  were  the  guest  for  three  days  of  the  suave  and 
dignified  old  Ori,  a  chief  who  was  once  the  host  of  the 
Stevensons  for  many  weeks,  and  who,  on  occasion,  fairly 
bubbled  with  piquant  anecdotes  of  the  great  novelist. 
Returning  down  the  leeward  side  of  the  island,  we  spent 
a  day  and  a  night  with  the  wealthy  Teta-nui  in  a  big, 
comfortable  two-story  house  which  might  have  passed 
for  a  Southern  plantation  home  of  the  ante-bellum  days, 
and  also  found  time  to  accept  a  luncheon  invitation  from 


136     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  scholarly  Tau-te  Salmon,  relation  of  the  late  King 
Pomare,  university  man  and,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visits 
abroad,  the  feted  guest  of  Washington,  London  and 
Paris. 

Tahitian  driving  comes  pretty  near  to  being  the  most 
reckless  thing  of  the  kind  in  my  experience.  It  really 
isn't  driving  at  all;  "herding"  is  a  more  appropriate 
term.  If  your  vehicle  has  more  than  one  seat  there 
will  be  three  or  four  horses  to  haul  it,  driven  "spike" 
in  the  former  case,  by  twos  in  the  latter.  These  animals 
are  attached  to  the  rig  by  traces  that  run  to  their  collars, 
which,  with  the  reins,  constitute  all  there  is  to  the  har- 
ness. There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  breeching  for 
holding  back,  and,  as  the  vehicle  never  has  a  brake, 
there  is  no  way  the  wheel  horses  can  save  their  heels  but 
by  beating  it  down  the  hills.  A  good  driver  will  handle 
two  horses  unaided;  beyond  that  number  a  boy  is  re- 
quired upon  the  back  of  each  additional  one.  With 
your  driver  and  post  boys  wearing  each  a  gaudy  hibis- 
cus or  tiare  behind  his  ear,  with  their  braided  whips 
cracking  merrily  at  everything  from  stray  dogs  and  blos- 
soms to  the  horses'  ears  and  each  other,  and  with  all  of 
them  raising  their  voices  in  himine  after  himine  with  the 
indefatigability  of  a  frog-pond  chorus,  your  progress, 
on  the  score  of  picturesqueness  at  least,  has  no  odds 
to  ask  of  a  Roman  Triumph. 

We  decided  to  make  the  circuit  by  starting  to  wind- 
ward and  taking  the  roughest  part  of  the  road  first. 
In  a  mile  or  two  the  last  straggling  Papeetan  suburb 
had  been  left  behind,  the  tall  pillar  of  the  Point  Venus 
lighthouse  Was  passed,  and  the  road,  plunging  into  the 
half-light  of  the  jungle,  became  a  grassy  track.  Here 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  137 

and  there  were  breaks  in  the  encompassing  walls  of  ver- 
dure, and  through  them  we  had  transient  glimpses  of 
the  landscape — "that  smiling  Tahitian  landscape  where 
the  weeds  laugh  at  the  idea  of  road  boundaries;  where 
the  sea,  disdaining  regular  shoreline,  straggles  aim- 
lessly among  its  hundred  islets;  where  the  mountains 
flaunt  all  known  laws  of  natural  architecture  and  the 
wind  disdains  regular  blasts;  where  the  sun,  as  careless 
as  the  rest,  shines  one  moment  above  the  palm  fronds  as 
clear  as  frosted  silver,  and  the  next  hides  completely 
behind  the  lowering  mask  of  a  black  cloud — a  kingdom 
of  laissez-faire/' 

In  the  seventy-five  miles  from  Papeete  to  Tautira  by 
the  windward  route  there  is  an  average  of  more  than  one 
stream  for  every  mile,  and  not  a  single  bridge  in  the 
whole  distance.  As  this  side  of  the  island  has  an  inch 
or  more  of  rain  daily  for  most  of  the  year,  it  may  be 
understood  that  many  of  the  streams  are  formidable 
torrents  and  by  no  means  easily  forded.  The  approved 
way  of  crossing,  especially  if  you  have  a  spirited  driver 
and  horses  and  are  not  without  spirit  yourself,  is  to  join 
your  Jehu  and  the  postillions  in  their  cannibal  war- 
whoops  and  endeavour  to  take  the  obstacle  like  a  water- 
jump  in  a  steeple-chase.  Now  and  then — just  often 
enough  to  keep  you  from  becoming  discouraged  and 
adopting  more  conservative  tactics — your  outfit,  smoth- 
ered in  flying  gravel  and  sun-kissed  spray,  reaches  the 
farther  bank  and  goes  reeling  on  its  course;  usually  a 
wheel  hits  a  boulder  and  you  stop  short;  and  here  is 
where  the  synthetically  constructed  harnesses — bits  of 
old  straps,  wire,  tough  strands  of  liana  and  vegetable 
fibre — vindicate  their  existence. 


138     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Nothing  short  of  a  charge  of  dynamite  will  move  the 
boulder  against  which  the  near  wheel  is  securely 
jammed.  With  the  horses  going  berserk  at  thirty  miles 
an  hour,  therefore,  something  has  to  give  way,  and  the 
Tahitian  has  wisely  figured  that  it  is  easier  to  patch  a 
harness  than  a  wagon.  So  it  happens  that  when  the 
latter  is  brought  up  short  in  midstream,  the  harnesses 
dissolve  like  webs  of  gossamer  and  the  horses  pop  out 
of  them  and  go  on  ahead.  The  driver,  and  any  one 
who  chances  to  be  on  the  front  seat /with  him,  usually 
follows  the  horses  for  a  few  yards ;  those  upon  the  back 
seats  telescope  upon  one  another.  The  assistance  of 
wayfaring  natives  is  almost  imperative  at  this  juncture 
and,  strange  to  tell,  with  the  infallibility  of  St.  Bernard 
dogs  in  children's  Alpine  stories,  they  always  seem  to 
turn  up  at  the  psychologic  moment. 

From  one  such  predicament  our  party  was  rescued 
by  a  bevy  of  girls  on  their  way  to  market.  These,  after 
a  short  spell  of  not  unpardonable  mirth  had  subsided, 
manfully  tucked  up  their  pareos,  put  their  sturdy  brown 
shoulders  to  the  wheels  and  literally  lifted  the  whole 
outfit  through  to  the  bank.  An  hour  later,  after  a  sim- 
ilar mishap,  we  were  all  carried  ashore  on  the  broad 
coconut-oiled  backs  of  the  half-intoxicated  members  of 
a  party  of  revellers,  who  left  a  hula  unfinished  to  rush 
to  the  rescue.  They  were  all  real  "mitinaire  boys,"  they 
said,  and  were  "ver'  glad  to  help  Chris'yun  white  vis'- 
tor."  And  to  show  that  these  were  not  idle  words,  they 
offered  to  carry  us  all  across  the  stream  and  back  again 
in  pure  good  fellowship. 

One  of  them,  in  fact,  a  six-foot  Apollo  with  his  matted 
hair  rakishly  topped  with  a  coronal  of  white  tiare,  had 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  139 

Claribel  over  his  shoulder  and  half  way  down  the  bank 
before  we  could  convince  him  that  we  were  fully  as- 
sured of  his  good  will  without  further  demonstration. 
The  imperturbable  Claribel,  having  been  "cannibal 
broke"  in  the  Marquesas,  accepted  the  impetuous  gal- 
lantry with  the  philosophical  passivity  of  the  sack  of 
copra  she  might  have  been  for  all  the  Kanaka  Lochin- 
var's  care  in  keeping  her  right  side  up.  This  was  our 
only  experience  of  anything  approaching  a  lack  of  cour- 
tesy in  a  Tahitian,  and  the  victim's  charitable  interpre- 
tation of  the  act  as  a  mistaken  kindness  saved  the  of- 
fender from  even  being  denied  participation  in  the  divi- 
sion of  a  handful  of  coppers. 

Hiteaea,  a  village  situated  half  way  down  the  wind- 
ward side  of  the  island  from  Papeete,  is  as  lovely  as 
a  steamship  company's  folder  description;  the  kind  of 
a  place  you  have  always  suspected  never  existed  outside 
the  imagination  of  a  drop-curtain  painter.  Half  of  the 
settlement  is  smothered  in  giant  bamboos,  curving  and 
feather-tipped,  and  the  remainder  in  flamboyant,  fran- 
gipani  and  burao  trees,  which  carpet  the  ground  inches 
deep  with  blossoms  of  scarlet,  waxy  cream  and  pale 
gold.  Nothing  less  strong  than  the  persistent  south- 
east Trade-wind  could  furnish  the  place  with  air;  noth- 
ing less  bright  than  the  equatorial  sun  could  pierce  the 
dense  curtains  with  shafts  of  light.  Toward  the  sea 
the  jungle  thins  and  in  a  palm-dotted  clearing,  walled 
in  with  flowering  stephanosis  and  tiare,  are  the  brown 
thatched  houses  of  the  Chief.  A  rolling  natural  lawn 
leads  down  to  the  beach  of  shining  coral  clinkers,  which 
curves  about  a  lagoon  reflecting  the  blended  shades  of 
lapis  lazuli,  chrysoprase  and  pale  jade.  A  froth-white 


140     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

lace  collar  of  surf  reveals  the  outer  reef,  and  across  the 
cloud-mottled  indigo  sea  loom  the  fantastic  heights  of 
the  mountains  and  cliffs  behind  Tautira. 

The  squealing  of  chased  pigs  and  the  squawk  of  cap- 
tured chickens  welled  up  to  our  ears  as  we  topped  the 
last  divide  and  saw  the  blue  smoke  of  the  Hiteaea  flesh- 
pots  filtering  through  the  green  curtain  which  still  hid 
the  village  from  our  sight,  sounds  which,  to  the  trained 
ears  of  our  island  friends,  the  Dotys,  told  that  their 
messenger  had  carried  the  news  of  our  coming  and  that 
fitting  preparations  were  being  made  for  our  reception. 
The  wayfarer  in  colder,  greyer  climes  sings  of  the  emo- 
tions awakened  in  his  breast  by  the  "watch-dog's  deep- 
mouthed  welcome"  as  he  draws  near  home,  or  of  the 
"lamp  in  the  window"  which  is  waiting  for  him;  to  the 
Tahitian  traveller  all  that  the  dog  and  the  lamp  express, 
and  a  deal  more  besides,  is  carried  in  the  dying  wails 
of  pigs  and  chickens,  the  inevitable  signal  of  rushed 
preparations  for  expected  visitors. 

Our  driver  and  post-boys  answered  the  signal  with  a 
glad  chorus  of  yells,  and  the  jaded  horses,  a  moment  be- 
fore drooping  from  the  stiff  climb  to  the  summit  of  the 
divide,  galvanized  into  life  and  dashed  off  down  the 
serpentine  trough  of  roots  and  tussocks  which  answered 
for  a  road  at  a  rate  which  kept  the  tugs  connecting  them 
to  the  madly  pursuing  chariot  straightened  all  the  way 
to  the  beach.  Some  of  us  were  shouting  with  excite- 
ment, so:  ^  with  fright,  and  some  of  the  less  stoical — 
at  the  buffets  dealt  them  by  the  half -padded  cushions 
and  the  swaying  sides — even  with  pain.  Most  of  the 
unsecured  baggage — cameras,  suitcases,  hand-bags, 
phonograph  records  and  the  like — went  flying  off  like 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  141 

nebulae  in  our  comet-like  wake;  a  man  with  a  load  of 
plantain  was  knocked  sprawling,  a  litter  of  pigs  ground 
under  foot,  a  flock  of  ducks  parted  down  the  middle  and 
a  bevy  of  babies  just  avoided,  before  we  brought  up  in 
a  shower  of  tinkling  coral  at  the  door  of  the  Chief's 
house.  It  was  as  spectacular  an  entry  as  even  our  post- 
boys could  have  desired,  but  our  garrulous  gratulation 
was  checked  an  instant  later  when  two  grave  faced 
young  women  in  black  holakaus  came  out  to  tell  us  that 
their  father,  the  Chief,  had  died  the  night  before. 

The  good  souls,  in  spite  of  their  sorrow  and  the  end- 
less amount  of  ceremony  and  preparation  incident  to 
the  funeral  of  a  Tahitian  chief,  had  made  all  the  ar- 
rangements to  accommodate  us  for  the  night,  and  would 
neither  permit  us  to  take  the  road  again  for  Terevao, 
nor  to  put  up  with  anything  less  than  the  best  that 
Hiteaea  had  to  offer.  So  the  evening  of  feasting  which 
would  ordinarily  have  been  our  portion,  was  dispensed 
with,  and  we  spent  the  night  quietly  and  comfortably 
in  the  house  of  mourning. 

Beyond  Hiteaea  the  road  dips  into  the  vanilla  bean 
zone,  and  from  there  to  the  Taiarapu  Isthmus  the  gush- 
ing Trade-wind  smites  the  nostrils  like  a  blast  from  a 
pastry  cook's  oven.  Vanilla  is  one  of  Tahiti's  budding 
industries,  and  like  everything  else  industrial  in  the 
Societies,  seems  likely  not  to  get  far  beyond  the  budding 
stage.  The  vanilla  vine  requires  little  but  heat,  mois- 
ture, a  tree  to  climb  upon  and  a  little  care.  The  natural 
conditions  are  near  ideal  in  the  jungle  sections  of 
Tahiti,  but  the  hitch  has  come  on  the  score  of  care. 

A  number  of  Chinamen,  with  plantations  small 
enough  to  allow  them  to  do  their  own  work,  are  making 


142     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

a  considerable  success  of  vanilla,  but  where  Kanakas 
have  had  to  be  employed  there  has  been  nothing  but 
failure.  A  native  set  to  pollenize  a  lot  of  vines — this 
has  to  be  done  artificially  in  Tahiti  on  account  of  the 
absence  of  the  insects  which  perform  that  service  in  other 
countries — is  more  likely  than  not  to  pick  the  orchid- 
like  flowers  to  chew  or  stick  behind  his  ear,  or  to  weave 
the  new  tendrils  into  garlands  for  his  Olympian  brow. 
They  tell  you  in  Papeete  that  the  vanilla  industry  is  not 
flourishing  because  of  the  increasing  use  of  artificial 
flavouring  extracts  in  America;  the  real  reason  for  its 
backwardness  is  the  non-use  of  an  artificial — or  any 
other  kind  of — labour  extractor  on  the  Kanaka. 

At  the  Isthmus  of  Terevao  the  girdling  highway 
swings  back  down  the  leeward  side  of  the  island  to 
Papeete.  Tautira  is  reached  by  a  spur  which  is,  how- 
ever, much  better  maintained  than  portions  of  the  main 
road.  The  bush  is  not  so  dense  in  this  part  of  the  island 
as  along  the  road  we  had  just  traversed,  but  the  moun- 
tains, especially  in  the  vicinity  of  Tautira,  assume  an 
even  wilder  aspect  than  any  down  to  windward.  Knife- 
pointed  pinnacles  of  every  conceivable  shade  of  blue, 
green  and  purple  are  tossed  together  in  an  aimless 
jumble,  showing  the  skyline  of  a  battered  saw.  Here 
a  mountain  has  been  rent  by  some  Titan  to  let  a  river 
through;  there  a  mountain  has  refused  to  rend  and  a 
river  closes  its  eyes  and  launches  itself  over  a  thousand- 
foot  cliff,  paling  with  terror  as  it  realizes  the  magnitude 
of  its  leap  and  changing  from  a  bar  of  green  jade  to  a 
fluttering  scarf  of  grey  satin,  finally  to  collapse  into  a 
rumple  of  white  gossamer  where  the  jungle  riots  in 
shimmering  verdancy  against  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  143 

Unfathomable  gorges  with  overhanging  sides  tunnel 
into  the  hearts  of  unclimbable  mountains;  sheer  preci- 
pices drop  curtains  of  creepers  that  dangle  their  be- 
tasselled  skirts  in  the  quiet  river  reaches  hundreds  of  feet 
below;  ghostly  castles,  scarped  and  buttressed  and 
battlemented,  now  of  mist-wreathed  rock,  now  of  rock- 
pierced  mist,  fade  and  reappear  with  the  shifting  of  the 
curtains  of  the  clouds;  and  above  is  the  flaming,  sun- 
shot  sky,  below  the  wind-tossed,  diamond-sprinkled 
ocean.  Very  pertinent  was  Claribel's  observation  in 
point. 

"What  does  the  Frenchman  want  of  absinthe  and  the 
Chinaman  of  opium  when  they  both  have  a  place  like 
this  to  look  upon?"  she  ejaculated  between  jolts  as  we 
bounded  along  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea  on 
this  last  lap  of  the  outward  journey;  "it  is  a  dream  that 
nothing  but  a  flying  Tahitian  chariot  brought  up  short 
by  a  four-foot  mid-river  boulder  can  bring  you  out  of." 

An  instant  later  the  very  thing  which  Claribel  had 
defined  as  alone  being  equal  to  waking  one  from  his 
dream  of  the  mountains  had  eventuated,  and  because  the 
left  fore  wheel  had  been  called  upon  to  stand  more  than 
its  share  of  such  jolts,  it  dished  up  like  a  closed  umbrella, 
collapsed,  and  precipitated  every  one  and  everything  in 
the  long-suffering  old  vehicle  into  the  water.  Luckily, 
Tautira,  our  destination,  lay  just  beyond  the  farther  bank 
and,  salvaging  a  couple  of  bags  containing  changes  of 
only  slightly  wet  clothes,  we  waded  out  and  proceeded 
on  foot  to  the  house  which  Chief  Ori  had  prepared  for 
us,  leaving  the  driver  to  bring  on  the  wreckage  at  leisure. 

Tautira,  though  the  second  town  of  the  island,  is  al- 
most entirely  a  native  settlement,  the  "foreign  colony" 


144     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

consisting  of  but  one  missionary,  one  trader  and  one 
French  official.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  town  is 
backward  or  decadent,  but  rather  to  the  contrary.  Mis- 
sionaries, as  a  pretty  general  rule,  will  always  be  found 
thickest  on  the  "firing  line,"  and  where  operations  are  in 
the  hands  of  a  single  white  or  native  preacher  it  may  be 
taken  to  indicate  that  the  people,  professedly  at  least, 
are  well  within  the  fold.  There  is  but  one  trader  in 
Tautira  because  the  natives  are  shrewd  enough  to  own 
their  own  cutters  and  trade  directly  with  Papeete.  The 
official  is  there  to  collect  taxes,  not  because  he  is  needed 
to  keep  order.  As  far  as  morals  are  concerned,  Consul 
Doty  expressed  it  very  well  when  he  said  that  "there  is 
more  mischief  to  the  square  foot — or  should  I  say  the 
rounded  ankle? — in  Papeete  than  in  all  of  Tautira." 

Except  for  its  scenery,  Tautira's  chief  claim  to  dis- 
tinction is  Ori,  and  Ori's  chief  claim  to  distinction  is  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  host  for  a  month  or  more  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson's  party  on  the  novelist's  first  cruise  to 
the  South  Seas  in  the  Casco.  Stevenson,  still  weak  from 
overwork  and  hardly  yet  beginning  to  feel  the  beneficial 
effects  of  the  cruise,  was  ill  during  nearly  all  of  his  stay 
in  Tautira.  No  account  of  this  visit  appears  in  his 
South  Sea  book,  but  in  the  published  letters  of  his 
mother  it  is  written  of  at  length,  and  most  entertain- 
ingly. 

From  Mrs.  Stevenson's  account  it  would  appear  that 
the  party  was  tendered  the  usual  round  of  feasts,  dances 
and  gifts,  and  countered  with  feasts  and  gift-givings  of 
its  own.  They  tell  you  in  Papeete  that  Stevenson's  ill- 
ness during  this  visit  made  him  see  their  island  through 
dark  glasses,  and  that  this  was  the  reason  that  he  ulti- 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  145 

mately  settled  in  Samoa  instead  of  Tahiti.  From  the 
standpoint  of  picturesque  and  tropical  loveliness  Tau- 
tira,  and  even  Papeete,  is  distinctly  ahead  of  Apia,  so 
that  it  is  more  likely  that  the  greater  attractiveness  of 
the  incomparable  Samoan  native  who,  then  as  now,  was 
much  less  touched  by  white  influence  than  the  Tahitian, 
turned  the  scale  in  favour  of  the  more  westerly  group  for 
the  novelist's  home. 

Ori — a  wily  old  hypocrite  whose  six-feet-four  of 
stature,  unlike  that  of  most  Tahitians,  is  not  cumbered 
with  an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh — made  a  great  point 
of  assuring  us  that  the  whole  plan  of  entertainment  pro- 
vided for  our  party  was  patterned  on  that  which  he  had 
dispensed  to  the  Stevensons.  We  were  quartered  in  one 
of  the  houses  the  Stevensons  had  occupied;  quite  as 
many  pigs  and  chickens  were  slaughtered  for  our  "na- 
tive" feasts  as  for  those  of  the  Stevensons ;  full  as  many 
singers  were  mustered  for  our  himines  as  turned  out  for 
the  Stevensons ;  he  would  lavish  quite  as  rich  gifts  upon 
us  as  he  did  upon  the  Stevensons,  and — the  Stevensons 
had  given  him  such  and  such  and  such  things,  ad  infini- 
tum.  Inasmuch  as  we  were  paying  for  our  entertain- 
ment at  a  rate  which  we  knew  to  be  about  a  hundred 
per  cent,  above  the  normal,  there  was  little  of  base  in- 
gratitude in  the  remark  of  the  Commodore  who,  when 
his  knife  blade  turned  on  the  rubberoid  leg  of  one  of 
Ori's  broilers,  asked  that  venerable  rascal  if  the  drum- 
stick in  question  came  from  one  of  the  chickens  left  over 
by  the  Stevensons. 

For  some  reason  chickens,  like  wine,  refuse  to  age 
properly  in  the  South  Pacific.  It  may  be  the  heat,  it 
may  be  the  humidity;  at  any  rate  a  chicken  of  greater 


146     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

age  than  two  months,  however  cooked,  makes  a  piece  de 
resistance  in  a  most  painfully  literal  sense.  Luckily, 
the  Tahitian  pig,  cooked  in  island  fashion,  is  as  much 
above  the  average  porker  of  temperate  latitudes  as  the 
Tahitian  broiler  falls  below  the  standard  in  his  class. 
Any  kind  of  a  cut  from  a  six-months-old  coconut-fed 
pig,  cooked  on  hot  stones  and  served  with  the  inimitable 
miti-hari  sauce,  will  awaken  an  ecstasy  in  the  palate  the 
memory  of  which  cannot  be  eradicated  by  a  lifetime  of 
gastronomic  experience  with  the  most  vaunted  viands  of 
other  climes.  The  recipe  for  preparing  this  incompar- 
able delicacy  would  be  about  as  follows : 

Dig  a  hole  in  the  ground  big  enough  comfortably  to 
bury  a  pig  in  and  fill  it  with  smooth,  round  river-bottom 
stones.  Collect  half  a  cord  or  so  of  dry  wood  and  start 
a  fire  on  the  stones.  Leaving  a  boy  to  stoke  the  fire, 
take  the  eight  or  ten  hours  in  which  the  stones  are  com- 
ing to  a  dull  cherry  red  to  find  just  the  right  sort  of  a 
pig.  From  three  to  six  months  is  the  best  age,  and,  if 
possible,  get  an  animal  that  has  been  penned  and  fed 
upon  nothing  but  young  coconuts.  If  there  has  been 
a  few  odd  bread-fruits,  bananas,  mangoes,  papayas,  avo- 
cados, star-apples  and  the  like  thrown  in  to  him  occa- 
sionally it  will  not  make  much  difference,  but  avoid  the 
young  porker  that  has  rustled  for  himself  about  the 
copra  shacks  and  along  the  beach. 

Kill  the  pig  and  dress  in  the  usual  manner,  but  with- 
out cutting  off  the  head  and  feet  or  removing  the  skin. 
Wrap  the  body  several  inches  deep  in  banana  or  plan- 
tain leaves  and  plaster  the  whole  thickly  with  sticky 
mud.  Then,  if  the  stones  are  red,  remove  them  with  a 
pole,  throw  in  the  wrapped  pig  and  push  them  back 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  147 

again.  Best  to  let  a  native  watch  the  progress  of  the 
cooking,  as  a  great  deal  depends  upon  taking  out  the 
pig  at  the  right  time,  and  a  lifetime  of  experience  is  re- 
quired to  forecast  the  precise  condition  to  which  it  is 
roasted  from  a  whiff  of  the  steam. 

You  might  try  your  hand  with  miti-hari  before  leaving 
the  rest  of  the  feast  for  the  natives  to  prepare.  This  is 
the  sauce  par  excellence  of  the  South  Pacific,  and,  as 
far  as  my  own  experience  goes,  quite  without  a  peer  in 
any  other  part  of  the  world.  Send  for  a  quart  of  grated 
coconut  meat  (most  of  the  native  houses  keep  it  on 
hand) ,  and  after  soaking  it  for  a  few  minutes  in  sea 
water,  pour  out  on  a  square  of  stout  muslin,  twist  the 
corners  of  the  latter  together  and  bring  all  the  pressure 
possible  to  bear  on  the  contents.  The  result  is  a  cupful 
of  thick,  rich  milk  which,  on  the  addition  of  the  juice  of  a 
couple  of  limes  and  a  red  pepper  or  two,  becomes  the 
marvellous  and  transmutative  miti-hari. 

I  recall  hearing  in  Papeete  a  story  concerning  the 
amazing  things  that  tourists  have  eaten  under  the  gas- 
tronomic intoxication  incident  to  tasting  the  wonderful 
miti  sauce  with  which  they — the  things — were  dressed. 
I  believe  a  piece  of  rubber  blanket  was  on  the  list.  I 
don't  exactly  recall  what  else,  though  I  do  remember 
hearing  Claribel  say  that  a  dash  of  miti-hari  on  the  story 
itself  might  make  it  easier  to  swallow.  But  Claribel, 
unduly  proud  of  her  own  salad  dressings,  was  somewhat 
prejudiced  against  the  incomparable  Tahitian  sauce. 

The  Tahitian  "native"  feast  does  not  differ  in  any 
salient  particulars  from  the  often-described  Hawaiian 
luau.  The  guests  sit  on  the  ground  and  eat  the  various 
"dishes,"  which  are  spread  before  them  on  banana  leaves, 


148     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

from  their  fingers.  In  addition  to  pig,  chicken  and  the 
inevitable  breadfruit,  the  menu  always  includes  a  liberal 
supply  of  fish,  both  cooked  in  ti  leaves  and  pickled  raw 
in  lime  juice;  taro,  boiled  and  mashed;  bananas  and 
plantain  of  a  dozen  different  varieties;  fillet  of  squid, 
very  exquisite  prawns  and  your  choice  of  a  score  of  va- 
rieties of  strange  and  delicious  tropical  fruits  with  un- 
writable names. 

If  the  feast  is  given  you  by  a  person  of  wealth  and 
importance,  or  if  you  are  paying  a  chief  like  the  canny 
Ori  a  sum  sufficient  to  make  it  an  inducement,  you  may 
get  a  taste  of  coconut  sprout  salad.  The  raw  fish  is 
far  from  unpalatable  and  the  prawns  are  exquisite, 
but  the  coco  sprout  salad  is  the  only  dish  of  the  lot 
worthy  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  the 
miti-hari-ed  pig.  Unfortunately,  as  every  tiny  sprout 
in  the  salad  means  the  death  of  a  young  coco  palm,  the 
dish  is  more  often  discussed  than  digested.  A  substi- 
tute made  of  the  tender  fronds  of  young  ferns  is  itself 
pretty  near  a  high-water  mark  until  you  have  tasted 
that  from  coco  sprouts.  As  for  the  coco-fed  pig  and 
the  miti-hari  dressing,  if  it  doesn't  prepare  your  face 
for  a  look  of  distant  superiority  whenever  again  you 
hear  men  extolling  this  or  that  culinary  achievement  as 
worthy  of  place  on  the  top-most  pinnacle  of  gastronomic 
excellence,  it  is  because  you  are  suffering  from  atrophy 
of  the  palate. 

Kava,  so  popular  in  the  Samoas  and  Fiji,  was  not — 
Byron  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding — and  is  not, 
drunk  in  Tahiti.  Feasting  with  natives  outside  of  mis- 
sionary circles,  you  will  probably  have  a  chance  to  "ex- 
perience" orange  wine.  This  is  a  harmless-looking  bev- 


CIRCLING  TAHITI  149 

erage  of  insinuating  ways,  in  the  lucent  depths  of  the 
first  three  or  four  coco  shell  cups  of  which  lurks  no 
hint  of  the  devil  who  is  curled  up  in  the  bottom  of 
the  fifth  or  sixth,  and  all  thereafter.  The  proverbial 
ungentlemanliness  of  the  onslaught  of  a  "battleship" 
punch  upon  a  debutante  at  her  first  dance  on  board  is 
nothing  to  the  "assault  from  ambush"  of  orange  wine 
upon  the  unwary  stranger  who  dallies  over  long  above 
its  cup. 

Coco  wine — not  the  coco  toddy  that  figured  in  my 
Marquesan  pig  hunt,  which  is  a  baser  concoction — fer- 
mented from  a  juice  drawn  from  the  heart  of  the  trunk 
of  that  palm,  is  expensive  and  hard  to  obtain  at  any  cost. 
It  is  a  gentleman's  drink,  however,  and  scorns  to  prac- 
tise any  of  the  "behind-the-back"  tactics  of  the  soft- 
footed  orange  thunderbolt.  It  romps  down  the  throat 
like  a  torch-light  procession  and  promptly  starts  a  con- 
flagration that  spreads  like  wild-fire  from  the  head  to 
the  heels.  An  American  Indian  after  a  couple  of  epus 
of  coco  wine  would  commence  murdering  his  fellows,  as 
he  does  under  the  influence  of  the  fiery  mescal;  the  gen- 
tle Tahitian  in  like  instance,  though  quite  as  much  up- 
lifted, both  mentally  and  physically,  as  the  redskin,  is 
content  to  murder  sleep — his  own  and  every  one's  else. 
He  enters  upon  a  period  of  song  and  dance  which  lasts 
as  long  as  the  supply  of  wine,  and  there  is  no  peace 
within  a  quarter-mile  radius  of  the  centre  of  disturb- 
ance. 

In  America  or  Europe  a  man  showing  the  same  symp- 
toms as  does  a  Kanaka  under  the  influence  of  coco  wine 
would  be  gagged,  strait- jacketed  and  thrust  into  a 
padded  cell.  In  Tahiti  the  smiling  policeman,  if  the 


150     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

offender  becomes  too  boisterously  obstreperous,  accom- 
plishes a  similar  result  by  pitching  him  into  the  sea.  At 
first  blush  this  strikes  one  as  being  a  somewhat  drastic 
proceeding,  but  the  Tahitian,  being  amphibious,  rarely 
comes  to  harm  in  the  water.  Indeed,  I  have  the  assur- 
ance of  a  prominent  merchant  of  Papeete  that  "you 
would  be  surprised  how  few  of  these  ducked  natives 
are  really  drowned!"  I  will  return  to  the  Tahitian  in 
his  "lighter  moments"  in  another  chapter. 

Ori's  resources  of  entertainment,  by  a  strange  coinci- 
dence, came  to  an  end  at  the  same  time  as  did  our  big 
sack  of  Chilean  pesos,  and  we  returned  by  the  smooth, 
well-metalled  leeward  road  to  Papeete,  where  we  were 
planning  two  or  three  affairs  on  the  yacht  in  an  en* 
deavour  to  make  a  small  return  of  the  hospitality  we 
had  enjoyed  from  the  day  of  our  arrival.  We  still  had 
something  to  learn  about  "Society  in  the  Societies,"  how- 
ever, and  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  initiation. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SOCIETY   IN   THF   SOCIETIES 

THE  Society  Islands  took  their  name  from  the  Royal 
Geographical  Society,  which  sent  an  expedition  there 
in  1868  to  observe  the  transit  of  Venus,  not,  as  might  be 
supposed,  from  any  predilection  of  the  early  or  latter- 
day  inhabitants  to  afternoon  teas,  dinners,  dances, 
masques,  routs  and  the  like.  There  were,  to  be  sure, 
functions  which  might  freely  be  classed  under  some  of 
these  heads,  but  as  the  foreign  visitor  who  was  bidden 
usually  finished  up  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  lady 
who  went  out  to  ride  on  the  tiger,  except  in  the  literal 
interpretation  of  a  social  gathering  as  a  "polite  inter- 
mixing of  people,"  they  could  hardly  be  called  social 
from  his  standpoint.  Yet  today,  socially,  Papeete — at 
least  so  far  as  red  tape  and  ceremony  go — is  the  most 
finished  capital  of  the  South  Pacific.  These  things  are, 
in  fact,  rather  overdone  for  so  remote  a  tropical  out- 
post, and  the  intricate  system  of  precedence  set  up  by 
French  officialdom,  and  the  constant  danger  incident 
to  the  inadvertent  bringing  together  of  those  within 
and  without  the  pale,  made  one  long  at  times  for  the 
bluff  informality  of  Apia  and  the  whole-hearted  hos- 
pitality of  Suva  or  Honolulu. 

There  is  no  lack  of  kindness  on  Tahiti's  part  to  the 
stranger  within  her  gates;  if  any  complaint  is  to  be 
made  on  that  score,  in  fact,  it  is  that  there  is  too  much 
of  it.  The  trouble  lies  in  the  fact  that  there  are,  as 

151 


152     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

elsewhere  in  the  South  Pacific,  two  broadly  defined 
cliques — the  missionary  and  trader — between  which 
there  is  war  to  the  knife.  French  officialdom  consti- 
tutes a  third  clique  which,  while  keeping  itself  pretty 
well  aloof  from  the  other  two,  still  complicates  their  re- 
lations considerably.  This  alignment  does  not  seem 
so  impossible  on  the  face  of  it,  for  there  are  cliques  in 
all  climes,  -and  a  world  of  unsegregated  human  elements 
would  be  unthinkable.  You  will  choose  your  friends 
from  the  best  in  both  camps,  you  may  tell  yourself,  but 
how  soon  do  you  find  that  in  the  Guelph-and-Ghibelline 
warfare  of  the  missionary  and  trader  no  sort  of  "run- 
with-the-hare-and-hunt-with-the-hounds"  position  is 
possible.  If  you  are  going  to  stay  in  the  island  you 
may  just  as  well  enlist  under  the  banner  of  one  force 
or  the  other  at  the  outset,  for  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  recognized  noncombatant  and  you  are  just  as  likely 
to  go  down  between  the  contending  forces  in  trying  to 
keep  out  of  the  combat  as  in  fighting  in  their  ranks. 

But  under  which  banner  will  you  enlist?  There,  in- 
deed, comes  the  rub.  You  think  it  will  be  easy  to  de- 
cide, do  you?  Perhaps  so;  but  suppose  you  take  a  few 
days  to  hear  what  the  contenders  have  to  say  for  them- 
selves. You  will  find  some  very  plausible  chaps  on  both 
sides. 

"Upon  what  meat  has  this  our  missionary  fed?"  para- 
phrases one  of  your  trader  acquaintances,  who  claims 
to  have  been  a  university  man  before  his  "pater"  paid 
his  debts  and  cut  him  off  without  a  farthing.  He  al- 
ways comes  out  with  Shakespeare  after  about  the  fourth 
glass  of  rum,  you  learn  shortly,  and  as  inevitably  lapses 
into  the  vernacular  of  the  "beach"  with  something  of 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  SOCIETIES        153 

the  nature  of  "Why,  blyme  me,  them  swaller-tailed 
blokes  would  have  been  butchered  an'  eaten  a  hundred 
years  ago  if  it  wasn't  fer  us  traders  an'  our  shootin' 
irons  to  hold  down  the  blacks." 

After  an  evening  of  this  you  feel  that  the  traders  are 
a  much  misunderstood  lot  until,  in  the  missionary's  Sun- 
day sermon,  you  hear  them  sorrowfully  referred  to  as 
"our  sinful  brethren  whose  very  existence  here  would 
have  been  impossible  had  not  our  teachings  shown  the 
savage  the  error  of  his  blood-thirsty  ways."  Then  you 
realize  that  it  is  the  trader  who,  after  all,  is  in  the  wrong, 
until,  on  the  following  day,  you  drop  in  at  a  copra  shack 
on  the  Broom  Road  for  a  drink  of  coco  water,  and  learn 
that  it  was  missionary  denunciation  that  was  responsi- 
ble for  the  massacre  of  Boyle  and  Wells  at  Rangaroa  in 
1891,  and  that  the  captain  of  the  missionary  schooner, 
Croix  de  Sud,  was  severely  censured  by  the  governor  for 
abandoning  the  trader,  Wilkes,  to  his  fate  during  an 
uprising  in  the  Tongas  in  1903. 

At  heart,  of  course,  you  are  in  sympathy  with  the  mis- 
sionaries, so  that  it  is  with  a  secret  satisfaction  that  you 
hear  the  ascetic,  frock-coated  gentleman,  whom  you  fall 
in  with  a  couple  of  miles  farther  along,  nail  these  last 
stories  as  "unmitigated  and  devil-inspired  lies,"  and  go 
on  to  cite  "unimpeachable  authorities"  to  prove  that 
traders  instigated  the  "cutting  out"  of  the  missionary 
schooner,  Morning  Star,  in  the  Hervey  Group  in  1899, 
and  that  traders  were  guilty  of  having  incited  the  na- 
tives who  killed  Chalmers  in  New  Guinea  a  year  or  two 
later.  In  spite  of  your  sympathies,  however,  your  con- 
fidence in  the  missionaries  is  badly  shaken  when,  in  the 
pauses  of  the  hula  which  has  been  arranged  for  your 


154  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

especial  benefit,  you  get  "the  real  straight  of  it"  from 
"Kangaroo  Pete"  the  same  evening,  but  how  ashamed 
you  are  of  your  doubts  when  you  meet  the  "Board  of 
Conversion  of  the  Affiliated  Missionary  Societies  of  the 
South  Pacific  at  the  Consulate"  the  following  afternoon 
and  hear  the  members  "lay  bare  the  mainspring  of  every 
action"  of  its  representatives  since  the  days  of  the 
"blessed  John  Williams." 

Vacillating  between  the  Scylla  and  Charybdis  of 
"Missionarydom"  and  "Traderdom,"  and  torn  by  the 
conflicting  currents  of  doubt  and  belief,  you  end  by 
soundly  rating  yourself  as  an  invertebrate  weakling  in- 
capable of  forming  a  fixed  opinion  on  any  subject,  and 
decide  to  take  the  advice  of  a  sagacious  Australian 
traveller  who  said  that  he  had  found  the  best  course  to 
pursue  in  the  South  Pacific  was  to  "trade  with  the  trad- 
ers and  'mish'  with  the  missionaries."  But,  as  I  have 
already  pointed  out,  that  you  are  quite  as  likely  to  come 
to  grief  as  a  non-combatant  as  in  carrying  a  pike,  the 
experience  of  our  party  in  endeavouring  to  discharge  its 
social  indebtedness  in  Tahiti  goes  to  prove. 

The  best  characterization  I  have  heard  of  social 
Papeete  was  that  of  a  visiting  Englishman  who  applied 
to  it  what  some  other  Englishman  once  said  about  Ham- 
mersmith— "A  lot  of  variegated  grievances,  each  unit  of 
which  believes  himself  a  little  tin  Providence  on  wheels." 

The  truth  of  this  astute  observation  will  hardly  be 
brought  home  to  the  run  of  visitors  to  Tahiti  who,  stop- 
ping over  but  the  few  days  between  boats,  have  more  op- 
portunity to  receive  than  to  dispense  entertainment.  By 
us  of  the  Lurline  it  was  never  suspected  until,  in  a 
devil-inspired  moment,  we  decided  to  wipe  out  our  ac- 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  SOCIETIES        155 

cumulated  obligations  in  a  single  day  by  giving  a  tea 
and  a  sail  in  the  afternoon  and  a  buffet  deck  supper, 
with  fireworks,  in  the  evening.  What  an  excellent  idea, 
that  of  the  two  functions,  we  told  ourselves — one  for 
the  "earth-earthy"  set  and  the  other  for  the  "church- 
churchy"  set.  How  lucky  it  was  that  the  line  of  cleav- 
age between  them  was  so  clearly  demarked! 

We  called  in  the  suave,  diplomatic  young  consul,  with 
his  intricate  knowledge  of  the  most  recondite  of  the  cogs 
of  the  wheels  within  the  wheels  of  the  machine  of 
Tahitian  society,  and  started  on  the  list  for  the  after- 
noon affair,  to  which  the  "missionary  set"  was  to  be 
invited. 

"Father  Le  P ,"  we  began. 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  the  Consul. 

"The  Reverend  D and  family." 

"Ye-es." 

"The  Reverend  B and  wife." 

"Um — well,  hardly.  He's  Anglican,  you  know,  and 

there's  been  some  trouble  with  Father  Le  P over 

converts.  Better  not  put  them  down." 

"The  R 's,  who  had  us  to  tea  when  we  drove 

around  the  island.  They're  of  the  missionary  set,  aren't 
they?" 

"Yes,  but  they're  Presbyterians.  They  have  a  suit 
on  now  for  some  of  the  Catholic  land  which  adjoins 

them ;  so  they  wouldn't  do  with  Father  Le  P .  But 

they're  friends  of  the  B 's,  though.  You  might  put 

the  B 's  down  and  scratch  Father  Le  P off." 

The  next  two  families  mentioned  were  at  odds  with 
both  of  the  sub-factions,  the  lines  of  which  we  were  plot- 
ting, and  so  were  not  put  down  at  all  for  the  moment. 


156     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Then  came  three  that  were  friendly  to  Father  Le  P , 

which  resulted  in  his  name  being  added  again,  while 

those  of  the  B 's  and  the  R—  -s  were  scratched  off. 

And  so  it  went  on  for  a  couple  of  hours.  The  mission- 
ary set  ultimately  resolved  itself  into  five  irreconcilable 
factions,  and  to  these  we  discharged  our  obligations  sep- 
arately with  the  two  teas  and  a  dinner  on  board  and  a 
tea  and  a  dinner  at  the  hotel. 

The  list  of  the  trader  and  official  set  was  more  compli- 
cated still.  His  Excellency,  the  Governor,  we  started 
with,  of  course.  Monsieur  le  Secretaire  was  also 
passed,  but  Captaine  G could  not  be  included  be- 
cause he  had  recently  come  to  blows  with  the  Secretary 
over  cards  at  the  Cercle  Militaire.  The  dashing  Major 

L was  passed,  but  not  Lieutenant  P ,  of  the 

gunboat,  who  was  in  the  black  books  of  Government 
House  because  he  had  once  violated  official  etiquette  by 
bringing  a  jag  to  dinner  instead  of  acquiring  it  during 
the  evening.  Le  Compte  de  R it  was  also  neces- 
sary to  leave  off  from  our  Number  One  list  because  he 
and  the  truculent  Secretary  had  recently  quarrelled  over 
the  question  of  precedence  at  an  official  reception. 

Without  a  "trial  balance"  we  quickly  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  Anglo-Saxons  and  the  Germans — 
except  the  Consuls — would  not  do  with  the  French;  so 
an  evening  of  green  drinks  was  planned  for  the  latter  by 
themselves.  The  Anglo-Saxon  list  was  the  hardest  task 
of  the  lot,  and  before  it  was  completed  we  learned  that 

A had  another  wife  living  in  Auckland  and  that 

the  children  of  the  two  families  visited  back  and  forth; 

that  the  present  Mrs.  B was  the  first  Mrs.  C , 

and  before  that  was  a  barmaid  in  D 's  saloon;  that 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  SOCIETIES        157 

the  E 's,  F 's,  G 's  and  H 's  were  in- 
volved in  a  four-cornered  lawsuit  and  were  not  on  speak- 
ing terms;  that  the  Misses  I—  -  travelled  to  Sydney 
and  back  unchaperoned  and  carried  on  something  scan- 
dalous ;  that  J-  -'s  son  eloped  with  K—  -s  daughter 
and  deserted  her  in  San  Francisco  for  a  vaudeville  ac- 
tress ;  that — but  these  samples  will,  perhaps,  prove  suffi- 
cient to  give  an  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  tasks  which 
confronted  us. 

Even  under  the  coaching  of  the  sympathetic  and  al- 
most omniscient  Consul,  feuds  which  had  smouldered 
unsuspected  or  differences  which  had  cropped  up  over 
night  supervened  to  cast  palls  of  frigidity  over  even  the 
gayest  of  our  gatherings,  and  the  most  fervently  thank- 
ful moment  we  knew  in  the  course  of  the  whole  cruise 
was  the  one  in  which  the  last  boatload  of  the  guests 
from  the  last  of  our  half  score  or  more  of  "duty"  par- 
ties cleared  the  gangway  and  we  told  ourselves  that  all 
was  over  without  a  single  shooting  affray,  fist  fight  or 
even  a  hair-pulling. 

How  much  simpler  entertaining  had  been  in  the 
Marquesas,  where  the  common  run  of  social  feuds  were 
along  the  line  of  that  of  "Chewer-of-Thumbs,"  who 
was  reluctant  about  coming  aboard  with  "Masticator-of- 
Boys'-Ears"  on  the  ground  that  the  latter's  grand- 
father had  eaten  his — the  "Chewer's" — grandmother, 
and  afterwards  was  said  to  have  complained  of  indiges- 
tion. "Fancy — indigestion  from  one  of  the  'Chewer- 
of-Thumbs'  lineage!"  And  all  we  had  to  say  was 
that  the  idea  was  so  preposterous  that  it  must  have 
been  meant  as  a  joke;  upon  which  they  both  swarmed 
gleefully  aboard  the  yacht,  where  the  reconciliation  was 


158     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

completed  and  made  permanent  by  "Masticator's"  mag- 
nanimous action  in  smuggling  one  of  our  cases  of  canned 
salmon  into  "Chewer's"  canoe  and  helping  him  get  away 
with  it. 

Tahitian — I  mean  "missionary"  Tahitian — ideas  of 
modesty  were  amusingly  illustrated  by  a  warning  we 
received  from  a  well  educated  and  intentioned  young 
half-caste,  zealous  in  the  enthusiasm  of  recent  conver- 
sion, to  the  effect  that  our  bathing  costumes — regula- 
tion American  bathing  suits — were  the  occasion  of  no 
small  amount  of  unfavourable  comment  among  the  "bet- 
ter class  of  Papeetans." 

"But  what's  the  matter  of  our  bathing  suits?"  asked 
the  Commodore  in  the  amazement  of  perfect  innocence. 
"Oh — perhaps  the  sailors  have  been  a  little  informal  in 
the  costumes  they  have  worn  for  their  morning  plunges." 

"No,  it  isn't  the  sailors,"  was  the  reply.  "The  peo- 
ple are  saying  that  the  gentlemen's  suits  have  no  sleeves 
and  legs  and  that — that  the  skirts  of  the  ladies  come 
only  to  their  knees,  and — " 

"Of  course,"  cut  in  the  Commodore  impatiently; 
"what's  wrong  with  that?  Women  wear  trains  on  ball 
gowns,  not  on  bathing  suits.  Besides,  the  yacht  is  a 
good  cable's  length  off  shore,  and  it  takes  keen  eyes  to 
tell  a  bathing  suit  from  pajamas  at  that  distance." 

"I  know,  sir,"  was  the  naive  reply;  "but  you  would  be 
surprised,  sir,  to  learn  how  many  of  the  better  class  of 
people  living  along  the  beach  have  telescopes." 

"Oh!"  we  chorused— and  again  "Oh!" 

Before  showing  our  solicitous  young  friend  to  his 
canoe,  we  were  at  pains  to  enquire  what  was  the  ortho- 
dox bathing  costume  worn  by  the  ladies  of  the  "better 


A    MISSION    BATHING    SUIT.       BEFORE    THE    BATH AND    AFTER 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  SOCIETIES        159 

class" — brown  and  white — calling  his  attention  first  to 
some  girls  from  the  public  wash-house  who,  not  far  up 
the  beach,  were  disporting  themselves  in  the  shallows  in 
nothing  but  their  pareos,  short  pieces  of  gaudy  print 
which  fell  from  the  waist  to  the  knees.  He  replied  that 
the  "real  ladies,"  white  and  brown,  never  entered  the 
water  in  public  unless  modestly  draped  from  neck  to 
heel. 

This  turned  out  to  be  the  truth.  A  couple  of  days 
later,  in  the  course  of  a  ride,  I  came  upon  some  mission 
girls  about  to  take  a  dip  in  one  of  the  big  pools  of  the 
Faa-tua.  For  ten  centimes  one  of  them  allowed  me  to 
take  her  photograph  in  the  "orthodox"  costume  before 
entering  the  water.  When  the  bath  was  over  it  cost 
me  two  francs  to  get  her  to  come  out  into  the  sunshine 
and  stand  for  another  snap.  I  paid  it  willingly,  how- 
ever, rightly  judging  that  the  second  photograph  would 
be  worth  double  the  price  asked  in  bolstering  up  the 
faltering  confidence  of  the  Mater  and  Claribel  in  the 
comparative  propriety  of  their  American  bathing  suits. 
I  submit  the  two  photographs  without  comment. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   SONG   AND   DANCE    IN    TAHITI 

THE  Tahitian  word  for  song,  himine,  is  a  Kana- 
kazation  of  the  English  word  hymn.  Before  the  days 
of  the  missions  there  must  have  been  some  other  term, 
for  singing  was  quite  as  prominent  an  occupation  of 
the  native  then  as  now,  but  it  was  discarded  as  a  super- 
fluity long  ago.  The  South  Sea  Islander  does  not  cum- 
ber his  memory  with  more  than  one  name  at  a  time  for 
any  given  thing,  and  when  new  words  were  forced  upon 
him,  as  was  inevitable  with  the  coming  of  the  whites,  the 
old  ones  quickly  disappeared  through  disuse. 

Thus  himine  was  at  first  applied  to  nothing  but  the 
hymns  which  the  missionaries  taught.  Then  the  term 
expanded  to  include  the  rowing  and  working  chanteys 
of  the  natives,  and  finally  to  the  folk  and  dance  songs. 
Today  a  Tahitian  will  speak  of  the  himine  to  which  a 
hula  is  danced.  Shades  of  John  Williams  and  James 
Chalmers!  A  hula  to  a  himine!  A  native  danse  du 
venire  to  a  missionary  hymn ! 

"You  sinful  hussies  are  as  full  of  airs  as  a  music  box," 
said  a  missionary  to  the  bevy  of  f  rolicksome  vahines  who 
had  replied  with  a  rollicking  himine  to  his  invitation  to 
come  inside  of  the  church  and  listen  to  his  Sunday  ser- 
mon. 

"That  may  be,"  answered  one  of  the  flower-crowned 
damsels,  "but  we  can't  be  turned  by  a  crank,  at  any 
rate." 

160 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     161 

They  tell  you  this  story  at  the  club  in  Papeete,  and 
you,  politely,  laugh — just  as  you  did  when  you  heard 
the  original  of  that  variation  ten  years  before  in  Amer- 
ica. However,  the  local  adaptation  is  a  good  one — a 
Tahitian  nymph  is  indeed  as  full  of  airs  as  a  music  box, 
and  a  vast  deal  easier  to  start  up  and  keep  going. 

The  Tahitian  is  received  into  the  world  with  a  song, 
he  is  sped  forth  from  it  with  a  song,  and  the  only  time 
in  the  interval  when  there  is  not  a  song  issuing  from  his 
lips  is  when  he  is  asleep.  The  beat  of  the  sea  is  in  his 
blood  and  a  sense  of  time  and  an  ear  for  tone  are  in- 
stincts with  him.  It  is  as  natural  for  him  to  hold  a 
tune  as  it  is  to  walk,  and  it  would  be  as  remarkable  for 
him  to  sing  flat  as  to  fall  flat.  In  fact,  be  it  orange 
wine  or  coco  toddy,  sugar  cane  rum  or  simple  fatigue 
that  starts  his  senses  or  his  body  reeling,  he  will  com- 
mence falling  flat  long  before  he  starts  to  sing  flat.  As 
often  as  not  he  dies  with  a  song  on  his  lips,  and  even  his 
parting  gasp  is  pretty  sure  to  be  in  the  right  key. 

In  the  beginning  the  South  Seas  had  no  musical  in- 
struments beyond  the  hollow-tree  drum  and  the  conch. 
The  eukelele,  so  often  spoken  of  as  the  native  Hawaiian 
guitar,  was  originally  an  importation  from  Portugal, 
though  it  is  now  made  in  the  islands;  the  concertina, 
mouth-organ  and  Jew's  harp  of  the  rest  of  the  mid-Pa- 
cific latitudes  bear  their  foreign  marks  upon  them.  The 
Kanaka  makes  music  on  any  one  of  them  the  first  time 
he  takes  it  up ;  but  so  also  does  he  with  two  sticks  and  a 
coal  oil  can,  or  a  piece  of  rolled-up  floor  mat — he  can- 
not help  it. 

But  the  Tahitian's  heart  is  in  his  singing,  not  his 
playing,  and  in  choral  rather  than  solo  expression.  He 


162     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

sings  for  the  same  reason  that  the  rational  drinker  drinks 
— sociability.  He  is,  to  be  sure,  usually  singing  when 
he  is  on  the  road  or  working  alone,  but  only  because 
there  is  no  one  else  to  sing  with  him.  A  native  who 
sings  alone  by  preference  is  looked  upon  by  his  fellows 
much  as  we  regard  a  man  who  is  known  to  be  a  solitary 
drinker. 

I  have  never  heard  the  point  brought  up,  but  it  has 
struck  me  on  more  than  one  occasion  that  much  of  the 
phenomenal  success  of  the  early  missionaries  in  the 
South  Pacific  was  due  to  their  rare  judgment  in  turn- 
ing their  first  meetings  into  big  song-fests.  Even  a 
meeting  of  today  is  three  quarters  himine,  and  in  the 
short  intervals  of  prayer  and  preaching  the  congrega- 
tion is  in  a  continual  fidget  in  its  eagerness  for  the  open- 
ing notes  of  the  next  song.  Many  a  one  slips  down 
from  his  seat,  reclines  at  length  on  the  floor  and  lights 
a  banana-leaf  cigarette.  The  children  run  about,  not 
over  quietly,  and  amuse  themselves  with  pranks  upon 
their  elders.  But  at  the  first  long-drawn  note  of  the 
himine  leader — the  trumpet  call  to  action — all  leap  to 
the  seats,  throw  away  their  cigarettes  and  sit  at  stiff 
attention,  and  from  then  on  to  the  end  of  the  song 
have  no  eyes  or  ears  for  anything  but  the  business  in 
hand. 

All  of  the  missionary  hymns,  and  especially  those 
which  have  come  down  from  the  early  days,  are  trans- 
lations of  old  songs  of  the  camp  meeting  and  revival 
order,  and  every  one  of  them  has  the  beat  and  swing  of 
a  sailor's  chantey.  These  lively  new  tunes  tickled  the 
natives'  fancy  as  soon  as  they  were  introduced,  and  the 
fact  that  the  first  meetings  consisted  of  even  more  sing- 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     163 

ing  and  less  preaching  than  those  of  today  must  have 
done  much  toward  winning  the  missionary  tolerance  and 
even  popularity,  where  the  trader  and  the  planter  were 
ever  suspended  by  hair-fine  threads  above  the  cooking 
pots.  The  natives,  won  and  held  through  their  love  of 
hearing  themselves  sing,  have  thereby  also  been  ren- 
dered more  plastic  for  spiritual  moulding.  What  could 
not  have  been  done  with  them  if  their  passion  for  danc- 
ing could  have  been  similarly  played  upon? 

The  two  dominant  sounds  of  island  life,  the  boom  of 
the  breakers  and  the  hum  of  the  wind  in  the  trees,  may 
b^traced  through  all  of  the  native  music,  and,  through 
improvisation,  in  much  that  one  hears  in  the  churches. 
The  sonorous  chesty  notes  of  the  men's  lower  registers 
echo  faithfully  the  thunder  of  the  sea  upon  the  reef, 
and  a  high,  closed-mouth  humming  of  the  women  is  ad- 
mirably imitative  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  wind,  the 
rubbing  of  branches  and  the  lisp  of  split  palm  fronds. 
The  resonant  over-tones  of  the  bass  in  a  men's  chorus 
is  not  unsuggestive  of  the  dying  rumble  of  a  big  hollow- 
log  drum.  "The  swing  and  entrain  of  the  whole  per- 
formance are  intoxicating,"  writes  an  English  woman 
who  made  a  study  of  the  island  music;  "the  chorus,  be 
it  ten  or  a  thousand  voices,  sweeps  onward  as  resist- 
lessly  as  a  cataract,  and  the  beat  of  the  measure  is  like 
the  pulse  of  Father  Time  himself.  There  are  several 
parts  as  a  rule,  but  they  wander  in  and  out  of  one  an- 
other at  will,  and  every  now  and  then  a  single  voice  will 
break  away  and  embroider  a  little  improvisation  of  its 
own  upon  the  melody  that  is  like  a  sudden  scatter  of 
spray  from  the  crest  of  a  rolling  breaker.  Then  the 
chorus  takes  it  up  and  answers  it,  and  the  whole  mass 


164  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  the  voices  hurls  itself  upon  the  tune  like  the  breaker 
falling  and  bursting  upon  the  shore." 

Dancing  is  the  natural  concomitant  of  singing  in  all 
of  the  South  Sea  islands,  and  the  only  occasion  on  which 
one  is  enjoyed  without  the  other  it  at  church  service. 
As  for  dancing,  singing  is  a  sine  qua  non.  Not  only 
can  a  native  not  dance  without  a  singing  accompaniment, 
but  his  own  voice  must  also  be  a  part  of  that  accom- 
paniment. To  bind  a  Tahitian's  dancer's  mouth  is 
equivalent  to  tying  his  feet  quite  as  much  as  tying  a 
Latin's  hands  is  tantamount  to  binding  his  mouth. 

The  first  Tahitian  dancers  of  whom  there  is  any  au- 
thentic record  were  the  members  of  the  "Areo,"  a  secret 
intertribal  organization  of  the  old  days,  which  would  un- 
doubtedly be  credited  to  Bacchic  inspiration  were  there 
any  way  of  tracing  a  possible  connection.  The 
"Areos"  were  a  roystering  lot  of  madcaps,  hardly  com- 
parable to  anything  else  in  history,  but  partaking  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  a  modern  choral  society,  a 
fancy  dancing  class  and  a  band  of  brigands,  with  the 
avowed  encouragement  of  human  sacrifice,  murder,  can- 
nibalism and  general  immorality  thrown  in. 

The  "Areo"  was  made  up  of  the  elite  of  each  tribe, 
and  the  members  were  carefully  tutored  in  the  fine 
points  of  singing  and  dancing,  much  after  the  fashion 
of  the  geishas  of  Japan  and  the  nautch  girls  of  India. 
They  travelled  from  valley  to  valley  and  village  to  vil- 
lage like  a  college  glee-club,  and  the  fact  that  their 
shows  were  open  to  all-comers  free  of  charge  brought 
them  unbounded  popularity  and  made  them  welcome 
guests  in  the  palace  of  the  king  at  the  capital,  or  in  the 
huts  of  the  meanest  fishing  hamlet  on  the  island.  What 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     165 

they  desired  they  took,  and  so  powerful  and  popular 
were  they  that  there  was  none  to  gainsay  them.  What 
wonder  that  the  budding  youth  of  Tahiti  centred  his 
ambition  on  growing  up  to  become  an  "Areo"  with  an 
intensity  that  the  American  youth,  tossed  on  the  horns 
of  the  inevitable  pirate-captain-or-president  dilemma, 
can  never  know? 

And  then  came  the  missionary  ("Before  the  mission- 
ary came,"  in  the  mouth  of  an  old  Tahitian,  is  fraught 
with  all  the  wildness  of  regret  of  "Before  the  Gringo 
came"  on  the  lips  of  an  old  Spanish  Don  of  California) 
and  the  "Areo"  grew  less  and  less  and  finally  was  no 
more.  What  of  its  legacies?  We  have  seen  how  the 
missionaries  adopted  and  turned  the  song  to  their  own 
good  ends.  Has  the  dance  also  had  the  vitality  to  sur- 
vive without  the  patronage  of  the  real  arbiters  of  island 
destiny?  Hardly  in  its  pristine  purity — or  impurity. 
The  hula  in  Tahiti  today  is  in  about  the  same  state  as 
"The  Harp  that  Once  Through  Tara's  Halls";  the  only 
evidence  of  its  existence  is  when  some  overstrung  string 
of  vahines  breaks  (out)  to  show  that  still  it  lives.  If 
the  "breaking"  is  in  public  you  will  probably  see  the 
frayed  ends  of  the  string  being  chivvied  down  to  the 
city  bastile  by  a  couple  of  motherly  gendarmes. 

And  yet  the  ancient  dance  is  not  quite  dead;  there 
are  a  few  strings  that  will  yet  give  back  a  responsive 
chord  if  one  knows  how  to  twang  them.  But  don't 
think  it  will  be  you,  Mr.  Tourist.  I  never  heard  of  but 
one  man  who  chanced  to  strike  the  "Lost  Chord,"  and 
his  fingers  had  been  wandering  over  the  worn  strings  for 
a  year  or  more  before  they  twanged  the  right  combina- 
tion. I  will  write  of  how  this  befell  presently. 


166    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

The  usual  hula  that  is  arranged  for  those  of  the  "per- 
sonally -  conducted  -  limited-to-fifty-all-expenses-paid" 
party  who  are  in  search  of  something  deliciously  naughty 
is  about  as  devilish  as  a  quadrille  at  a  Sunday  school 
picnic — a  squad  of  portly  vahines  marching  soberly 
through  a  half  dozen  simple  figures  to  the  music  of  a 
couple  of  accordions  and  an  old  drum.  But  at  every 
one  of  these  performances  a  darkly  mysterious  Kanaka 
is  sure  to  slip  quietly  around  among  the  men  of  the 
party  and  hint  vaguely  of  the  "real  thing"  that  has 
been  arranged  for  that  very  evening,  and  to  which  ad- 
mission may  be  gained  for,  say,  ten  Chilean  pesos  apiece. 
Like  half-starved  trout  to  the  first  grasshopper  of  the 
season  they  rise,  and,  with  felicitous  mutterings  of  "A 
chance  of  a  lifetime  to  see  a  hula — last  one  ever  to  be 
pulled  off;  fancy  it  occurring  during  our  visit" — a  party 
of  a  dozen  or  more,  leaving  its  distractedly  envious  ladies 
behind,  is  steered  off  from  the  hotel  into  the  scented 
twilight. 

The  "subscriptions"  are  collected  en  route  to  a  de- 
serted shack  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where,  by 
the  light  of  a  couple  of  battered  ship  side-lamps,  the 
searchers  for  local  colour  see  a  dozen  anaemic  frailties 
from  the  "beach" — dull-eyed,  sad-looking  vahines,  flot- 
sam and  jetsam  from  half  the  island  groups  of  the 
South  Pacific,  with  strong  hints  of  elephantiasis  in  their 
heavy  ankles  and  blotchy  skin — writhe  and  wriggle  for 
half  an  hour  in  action  more  suggestive  of  the  popular 
vaudeville  imitation  of  a  portly  dame  trying  to  make  the 
hooks  of  her  evening  gown  meet  than  a  terpsichorean 
performance.  The  girls  are  a  shameless  lot  of  hussies 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     167 

of  the  class — you  met  them  what  times  you  whiled  away 
the  tedium  of  your  steamer  stop  in  Singapore,  Colombo 
and  Port  Said  with  those  swift  but  illuminating  studies 
of  "native  life" — that  dextrously  appropriates  your 
scarf  pin  under  pretence  of  putting  a  flower  in  your 
button  hole,  and  when  you  discover  the  loss  boldly  chal- 
lenges you  to  tell  the  police. 

And  yet — what  an  indescribable  lure  there  is  in  the 
"real  thing"  bait  any  time  after  you  have  been  bitten 
by  the  "search-for-local  colour"  bug!  It  would  hardly 
be  fair  for  me  to  hold  the  glass  on  the  researches  of  other 
Tahitian  visitors  without  confessing  that  I,  also,  was 
once  an  eager  follower  of  the  "real  thing"  will-o'-the 
wisp,  and  under  circumstances  particularly  aggravat- 
ing. So  here's  for  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

I  had  noticed  with  increasing  curiosity  as  our  Tahitian 
visit  wore  on  that  the  sailors  from  the  yacht  had  been 
returning  for  several  days  from  shore  leave  with  new 
hats  and  new  neckties,  and  with  wreaths  of  flowers  about 
their  shoulders — sure  signs  that  they  were  basking  in 
female  favour  in  some  part  of  the  island  capital — so  that 
when  the  mate  came  to  me  with  a  story  of  how  he  and 
his  fellows  had  been  adopted  (a  not  unusual  Kanaka 
custom)  by  families  of  an  outlying  Papeetan  suburb,  I 
accepted  the  truth  of  the  yarn  without  question. 

"As  a  special  favour,  sir,  a  lot  of  the  vahines  are  going 
to  give  us  the  Veal  thing'  in  the  way  of  a  hula  tomorrow 
night,"  he  confided  to  me,  "and  we  thought  that  as  you 
was  saying  that  you  didn't  think  much  of  them  tourist 
hulas  they  get  up  for  the  steamer  people  that  you  might 
like  to  see  the  genuine  article." 


168     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

"Thanks,  Victor,"  I  said  eagerly.  "Write  down  the 
directions  for  reaching  the  place  and  I  will  pick  up 
W-  -  and  be  there." 

It  isn't  the  custom  to  go  sight-seeing  with  the  sailors 
of  one's  friend's  yacht  in  Tahiti  any  more  than  else- 
where, but  I  told  myself  that  the  role  of  patron  would 
excuse  it  in  this  instance.  And  who  in  his  first  year  in 
"The  Islands"  ever  failed  to  rise  for  the  "real  thing" 

bait  under  any  circumstances?  W ,  who  joined  me 

for  the  evening,  was  a  British  ornithologist  of  consid- 
erable reputation,  and  himself  an  earnest  searcher  after 
the  fabled  native  of  pristine  purity. 

We  found  the  place  without  difficulty  by  locating  it 
approximately  and  then  running  down  the  bang  of  a 
beaten  oil  can  and  the  whine  of  an  accordion.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  the  sailors  had  been  taken  to  the 
bosoms  of  some  native  families,  as  they  claimed;  it  is 
even  possible  that  there  may  have  been  a  right  merry 
breakdown  of  a  sort  going  on  before  we  came.  But 
certain  it  is  that  it  was  nothing  bordering  on  that  elu- 
sive will-o'-the-wisp,  the  "real  thing,"  and  more  certain 
still  that  our  coming — perhaps  through  suspicions 

aroused  by  the  official  cut  of  W 's  ducks — came 

pretty  near  to  putting  an  end  to  even  such  activity  as 
had  been  in  progress  up  to  that  moment. 

The  double  line  of  capering  vahines  broke  for  the  un- 
lighted  corners  and  in  a  trice  had  hidden  their  graceful 
flower-wreathed  limbs  under  flowing  holakaus.  They 
were  a  likely  enough  looking  lot  of  girls,  but  not  even 
the  dozen  bottles  of  claret  which  we  had  brought  as 
good- will  offering  served  to  stir  them  to  further  action. 
In  vain  the  chagrined  sailors  implored  and  swore  and 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     169 

pushed  and  pulled;  the  distrustful  nymphs  only  hung 
their  flower-crowned  heads  and  shrunk  deeper  into  the 
dark  corners.  There  was  only  one  of  the  lot  that  did 
not  seem  paralysed  with  bashfulness,  and  this  one,  a 
long,  rangy  rack  of  bones  with  close-cropped  hair — the 
only  uncomely  member  of  the  party — started  a  lively 
whirling-dervish  sort  of  a  dance  that  threatened  to 
break  through  the  rickety  floor. 

"Not  an  orthodox  hula,  but  quite  the  best  bit  of  quick 
stepping  I've  seen  in  Tahiti,"  cried  W enthusias- 
tically. "Go  it,  girl!  Vitel  Vitef' 

Thus  encouraged,  the  lengthy  dancer  let  out  another 
link  and  at  the  same  time  lowered  her  song  from  a  high 
falsetto  humming  to  a  booming  of  chesty  bass  notes. 

"My  word!"  gasped  W ,  "she's  a  man!" 

And  a  man  "she"  proved  to  be,  a  light-stepping  young 
Kanaka,  called  in  at  the  last  moment  to  take  the  place 
of  a  girl  who  had  fallen  ill. 

"Let's  take  a  flash  of  that  bunch  of  icebergs  and  get 
out  of  here,"  suggested  W—  wearily;  "I've  had 
about  enough  of  your  'real  thing'  for  one  evening." 

So  while  W and  the  sailors  chivvied  the  reluctant 

dancers  together  and  grouped  them  in  frozen  poses,  I 
set  up  my  camera  and  put  out  the  flashlight  powder.  A 
sufficient  quantity  of  the  latter  was  poured  from  a  two- 
ounce  tin  box  into  its  cover  and  set  on  a  rickety  table, 
the  mate  being  directed  to  light  it  at  the  click  of  my 
opening  shutter.  He  lit  the  powder  at  the  proper 
moment,  but  confused  the  order  to  the  extent  of  put- 
ting his  match  to  the  contents  of  the  nearly  full 
box  instead  of  the  small  portion  in  its  cover.  There 
came  an  explosive  "whish,"  a  blinding  flash,  and  under  a 


170    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

dense  smoke-cloud  the  mate,  his  eyelashes  gone  and  his 
drooping  Norwegian  moustache  burned  to  a  few  singed 
stubs,  was  writhing  on  the  floor  and  groaning  with 
agony.  An  instant  later  the  light  bamboo  wall  behind 
the  table  was  observed  to  be  afire,  and  forthwith  bedlam 
broke  loose  on  all  sides. 

The  sailors  bellowed  for  water  and  W shouted 

for  a  quilt,  while  the  natives  screamed  back  to  the  effect 
that,  as  the  house  was  deserted  and  isolated,  neither 
could  be  had.  There  seemed  nothing  to  do  but  to  get 
out  and  let  the  old  shack  burn,  and  through  my  mind 
flashed  pictures  of  an  interminable  series  of  complica- 
tions incident  to  the  red-tape  of  the  inevitable  French 

official  investigations.  W and  a  sailor,  with  the 

apparently  stone-blind  mate  between  them,  were  making 
for  the  door  and  I  was  endeavouring  to  save  the  tram- 
pled fragments  of  my  photographic  apparatus,  when 
my  eye  caught  a  flash  of  red  in  one  corner,  and  my  ear 
the  twice  or  thrice  repeated  crash  of  breaking  glass.  In 
a  quarter  of  a  minute  more  a  vigorously  swished  wet  rag 
had  whipped  out  the  darting  flame-tongues  just  before 
they  reached  the  pendant  frizzles  of  the  pandanus 
thatch. 

A  resourceful  vahine,  while  all  the  rest  of  us  were 
wasting  our  breaths  calling  for  water  and  quilts,  and 
bewailing  the  absence  of  hand  grenades  and  chemical  en- 
gines, had  calmly  whisked  off  her  pareo,  broken  all  of 
the  unopened  claret  bottles  over  it  and  slapped  out  the 
fire. 

Wasn't  it  Moll  Pitcher  who  won  the  day  and  a  monu- 
ment by  swabbing  out  the  cannon  with  some  of  her  sur- 
plus lingerie?  They  don't  erect  monuments  to  heroic 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     171 

fire-lassies  in  Tahiti,  so  W and  I  did  the  best  thing 

possible  under  the  circumstances  in  subscribing  the  price 
of  a  dozen  new  pareos. 

It  was  a  week  or  so  after  the  incident  just  sketched 

had  taken  place  that  W and  I  were  at  luncheon  at 

the  Cercle  Militaire  with  a  distinguished  German  eth- 
nologist who  had  spent  many  years  in  the  study  of  the 
fascinating  problem  of  a  prehistoric  Polynesian  civil- 
ization. W ,  after  amusingly  narrating  several  of 

the  experiences  incident  to  his  own  study  of  native  life 
in  the  South  Seas,  made  the  statement  that  a  genuine 
Tahitas  hula  could  not  be  seen  on  the  island  for  "love  or 
money,"  an  assertion  in  which  I  stoutly  supported  him. 
The  learned  Teuton  listened  indulgently. 

"Dat's  a  priddy  zweeping  stadement,  chentlemen," 
he  ventured.  "You  haf  tried  money,  no  doubt,  but  haf 
you  der  oder  alternative,  der  gindness  tried?" 

We  were  compelled  to  admit  that  nothing  systematic 
in  the  way  of  kindness  had  been  attempted,  upon  which 
the  doctor  launched  into  an  extended  dissertation  on  the 
futility  of  trjang  to  do  anything  with  South  Sea  natives 
on  a  "buy-and-sell"  basis.  Early  in  his  sojourn  in 
Tahiti,  he  said,  he  had  come  to  a  realization  of  the  banal- 
ity of  anything  not  freely  given  by  the  islanders.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  had  taken  up  his  residence  in  Hiteaea,  the 
least  "civilized"  village  of  the  island,  and  first  by  judi- 
cious presents,  later  by  incessant  intercourse  with  them 
in  the  affairs  of  their  daily  life,  succeeded  in  winning  the 
confidence  and  affection  of  the  simple  inhabitants.  As 
a  consequence  many  privileges  which  other  foreigners 
had  vainly  endeavoured  to  win  by  purchase  had  been  ex- 
tended to  him  as  a  brother,  among  them  being  attend- 


172     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ance  at  the  village's  not  infrequent  festivals  at  its  semi- 
secret  "sing-sing"  grounds  in  an  extinct  crater  far  in  the 
interior.  An  evening  of  singing  and  dancing  was 
scheduled  for  the  following  week,  at  the  full  of  the  moon, 
and  to  this  the  good  doctor,  conditional  on  the  consent 
of  his  native  friends,  invited  us  to  come. 

The  invitation  was  seconded  in  good  time,  and  on  the 
appointed  day  we  pushed  through  on  horseback  to 
Hiteaea — twenty-five  miles  down  the  rough  windward 
side  of  the  island — reaching  there  in  time  for  a  light 
mid-afternoon  lunch  which  the  doctor  had  waiting  for 
us.  The  beautiful  hamlet  was  nearly  deserted,  the  vil- 
lagers having  gone  on  earlier  in  the  day  to  enjoy  a  twi- 
light feast  before  the  dance.  Our  horses  carried  us  four 
or  five  miles  back  into  the  interior  where,  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  3000  feet,  the  roughness  and  steepness  of  the 
trail  and  the  thickness  of  the  creepers  overhead  made  it 
necessary  to  abandon  them  and  do  the  rest  of  the  climb 
through  the  sweat-box  of  the  jungle  on  foot.  We  ar- 
rived at  our  destination  in  time  for  a  plunge  in  a  hya- 
cinth-fringed pool  of  the  coolest  water  we  had  known  for 
months,  a  change  of  clothes  and  the  enjoyment  of  a 
number  of  thoughtfully  saved  dainties  from  the  feast. 
The  latter  had  evidently  been  a  jolly  and  somewhat  con- 
vivial affair,  but  nothing  of  an  orgy.  The  dancers,  with 
laughter  and  snatches  of  song,  were  assisting  each  other 
with  their  toilets  in  the  shelter  of  a  wing  of  rustling 
feis. 

The  "sing-sing"  ground  (this  is  a  term  of  the  "beach" 
vernacular  used  in  all  parts  of  the  South  Pacific  to 
designate  a  native  ceremonial  meeting  place)  had  once 
been  a  tiny  blow-hole  of  the  great  parent  volcano,  Oro- 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     173 

hena,  and  in  its  present  condition  it  is  not  unlike  the 
"Punch  Bowl  at  Honolulu  with  a  ten-degree  segment 
cut  cleanly  out  of  one  side.  The  smooth  floor  is  half 
rock,  half  turf,  and  the  towering  sides  of  lava,  cur- 
tained thickly  with  an  impenetrable  tangle  of  giant  fern, 
lantana  and  guava  scrub  and  woven  together  with  miles 
of  endless  creepers. 

By  a  strange  chance  the  slice  of  the  crater's  side  which, 
undermined  by  the  river  below,  fell  away  to  the  valley, 
left  a  clean-cut  chasm  of  great  depth  and  scant  width 
opening  toward  the  east-southeast.  Through  this  chasm 
the  full  moon,  from  the  moment  it  shows  its  glowing 
disc  above  a  saddle  in  the  rocks  to  the  east,  throws  a 
sharp  beam  across  the  flower-strewn  sward  which,  in 
its  brilliant  contrast  to  the  almost  solid  blackness  of  the 
unlighted  sides,  shines  as  clearly  as  a  shaft  of  calcium. 
In  this  lunar  spot-light,  in  air  almost  sentiently  sweet 
with  the  perfumes  of  gardenia  and  fern,  the  magic  of 
these  Terpsichorean  necromancers  is  practised. 

Stretched  at  our  ease  on  a  patch  of  mat-carpeted 
greensward  in  the  depths  of  the  shadow,  we  puffed  lazily 
at  our  native  cigarettes,  sipped  tiny  epus  of  fiery  coco 
wine  and  waited  for  the  dance  to  commence.  The  chat- 
ter in  the  depths  of  the  plantain-screened  dressing  room 
had  ceased,  and  only  the  liquid  tinkle  of  the  drip  from 
the  surrounding  walls,  the  distant  mutter  of  the  surf 
along  the  shore  and  the  throaty  calls  of  waking  wood 
pigeons  broke  the  stillness.  Overhead  the  stars  were 
blurring  and  blotting  and  twinkling  again,  as  the  dis- 
ordered ranks  of  the  Trade-clouds  shuffled  on  in  their 
endless  flight  before  the  scourges  of  the  southeast  wind ; 
but  to  the  east,  where  the  flickering  silhouettes  of  flying- 


174    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

foxes  showed  with  increasing  brightness  against  the 
moon-glow,  the  sky  was  clear. 

The  le.ap  of  the  moon  to  its  seat  in  the  saddle  of  the 
eastern  hills  was  as  startling  in  its  suddenness  as  that 
of  its  glass  bulb  stage-property  prototype  to  the  gauze 
heaven  above  the  Grand  Canal.  As  the  shadow-mot- 
tled shaft  of  light  impinged  upon  the  crater  floor  a  single 
drum  note  boomed  out  suddenly  on  the  stillness  and  a 
blur  of  motion  was  faintly  distinguishable  about  the 
"green  room"  entrances.  Presently,  as  the  shadows 
dissolved  in  the  strengthening  light,  scores  of  prone  fig- 
ures, motionless  save  for  a  gentle  waving  of  the  riva- 
riva  plumes  of  the  heads,  could  be  dimly  guessed,  and 
the  doctor  whispered  that  the  opening  number  was  evi- 
dently to  be  the  "Dance  of  the  Coconuts." 

The  plumes  continued  to  nod  for  a  few  moments  and 
then,  representing  the  sprouting  and  growth  of  the 
young  trees,  the  prostrate  dancers,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  low  chanting,  rose  inch  by  inch  to  their  full 
heights.  Now  the  Trade- wind  was  blowing  through 
their  tops,  and  they  bowed  and  swayed  and  bent  and  re- 
covered, while  the  muffled  nasal  chanting  rose  and  fell 
undulatingly  like  the  gusty  southeast  breeze.  Now  it 
was  harvest  time,  and  new  figures  wove  in  and  out 
among  the  swaying  trees  gathering  the  ripe  fruit,  and 
chesty  "boom-booms"  in  the  bass  told  of  the  cast-down 
nuts  striking  the  ground  underneath. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  indistinguishable  pantomime 
which  had  to  do  with  the  husking  and  drying  of  the  nuts 
for  copra,  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  quiet 
mimetic  dance.  The  hum  of  the  wind  rose  to  a  shrill 
whistle,  the  low  monotone  of  the  surf  on  the  reef 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     175 

changed  to  the  deep-mouthed  roars  of  crashing  combers 
as  hard-smitten  drum-logs  sent  forth  throbbing  peals 
of  heavy  thunder.  A  hurricane  was  bursting  upon  the 
coconut  grove.  No  longer  the  trees  bent  to  the  caress- 
ing touch  of  the  gentle  Trade.  Torn  by  conflicting 
gusts,  they  jerked  now  this  way  and  now  that,  thrashing 
limbs  striking  each  other  in  the  pantomime  of  bare  arms 
and  hands  banging  with  resounding  thwacks  upon  bare 
backs  and  breasts.  The  wind  and  surf  and  thunder 
blend  in  a  raucous  roar  as  the  storm  grows  more  furious, 
and  now  the  trees  are  snapping  and  falling  before  the 
terrific  onslaught.  Down  they  go,  now  falling  alone, 
now  striking  others  and  going  to  the  earth  together. 
In  a  few  moments  all  but  two  firmly  rooted  giants  in 
the  heart  of  the  grove  are  tossing  on  the  ground,  and 
these — represented  by  two  magnificently  muscled  men 
— lean  together  for  support  and  defy  the  hurricane  for  a 
brief  space  longer.  Then  they,  too,  give  way,  falling 
to  the  ground  interlocked,  and  the  "Dance  of  the  Coco- 
nuts" is  over. 

"My  word!"  gasped  W ,  as  the  roar  of  the  storm 

gave  way  to  laughter  and  chatter,  "what  wouldn't  it  be 
worth  to  the  man  who  could  put  that  on  at  Covent  Gar- 
den or  the  Hippodrome?" 

"Himmel!"  snorted  the  doctor  impatiently.  "You'd 
haf  der  whole  island  to  London  to  move  also  und  der 
ferdamte  British  glimate  would  right  away  der  whole 
thing  kill." 

While  the  dancers  rested  and  slaked  their  thirsts 
with  orange  wine,  our  host  gave  us  a  graphic  description 
of  the  "Volcano  Dance,"  which  is  performed  in  the  dark 
of  the  moon  by  the  light  of  a  huge  bonfire.  An  imita- 


176    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

tion  crater  of  long  creepers  is  built  at  a  point  where 
there  is  a  smooth  grass  chute  of  thirty  or  forty  yards  in 
length  ending  in  the  jungle  below.  On  the  side  oppo- 
site the  spectators  the  dancers,  swathed  in  wreaths  of  red 
hibiscus,  enter  the  crater  through  a  small  opening,  leap 
high  in  the  air  like  erupting  lava  and  go  rolling  off  down 
the  chute  to  the  thunder  of  drums  and  the  subterranean 
growls  of  the  male  chorus.  From  the  lower  end  of  the 
chute  a  back  trail  leads  up  to  the  "stage-entrance"  of 
the  artificial  crater,  so  that  fifty  or  more  dancers,  with  a 
sufficiency  of  orange  wine  on  tap  at  the  crater  door,  have 
no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  a  continuous  eruption. 

W asked  how  long  the  red  hibiscus  trimmings 

stood  the  rolling  down  part  of  the  eruption,  but  before 
the  doctor  could  reply  the  opening  drum-beat  of  the 
next  dance  sounded  and  this  weighty  question  was  never 
answered. 

With  short,  sharp  yells,  a  compact  body  of  girls  came 
charging  out  of  the  "green  room"  like  a  "flying  wedge" 
in  the  good  old  days  of  mass  play  in  football,  and  went 
scurrying  straight  across  into  the  shadows  of  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  crater.  This  was  the  "launching  of  the 
ship"  for  the  "Pearling  Schooner  Dance."  Directly 
canoefuls  of  stout  paddlers  came  towing  her  back  into 
the  moonlight  with  liana  hawsers,  and  all  in  an  instant, 
as  each  of  the  dancers  threw  aloft  a  square  of  white 
tapa,  she  was  under  sail  and  off  to  sea.  Now  she 
threaded,  in  short  tacks,  the  passage  through  the  reef, 
and  now,  to  low,  sweet  crooning  like  a  lullaby,  she  bowed 
and  curtesied  and  pitched  and  rolled  in  the  swift-run- 
ning ocean  swells. 

Presently  she  threaded  another  passage,  anchored  and 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     177 

took  in  her  sails  in  a  still  lagoon.  Here,  with  the  barely 
perceptible  motion  of  the  schooner  showing  in  the  rhyth- 
mic rocking  of  the  dancers,  divers  went  over  the  side  and 
brought  up  pearl  shell.  One  lusty  diver  lent  colour  to 
his  pantomime  by  bringing  up  a  huge  coconut,  the  in- 
calculable value  of  so  sizable  a  "pearl"  being  told  with  a 
facility  of  gesture  that  would  have  put  to  shame  a  mov- 
ing picture  "heavy." 

But  the  comedy  hit  of  this  dance  was  the  hooking  and 
landing  of  a  shark  on  a  strand  of  liana.  Baited  with  the 
coconut  pearl,  the  creeper  line  was  thrown  over  the 
rail,  to  attract  the  instant  attention  of  a  school  of  glis- 
tening man-eaters,  which,  with  crooked-elbow  dorsals, 
went  wriggling  about  the  grass  under  the  schooner's 
bows.  After  an  amazingly  clever  bit  of  "shark-play" 
about  the  bait,  one  of  the  "monsters"  rolled  over  on  his 
back  and  "swallowed"  it,  the  crew  promptly  "tailing  on" 
to  the  liana  to  bring  it  aboard. 

The  "shark,"  as  was  explained  to  us  afterwards,  had 
drunk  considerably  more  orange  wine  than  should  have 
fallen  to  his  share,  and  the  fight  he  put  up  before  being 
landed  and  "cut  to  pieces"  came  pretty  near  to  sinking 
the  graceful  pearler  then  and  there. 

Floundering  and  snapping  his  teeth  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  monster  of  twice  his  size, 
and  roaring  as  no  shark  of  any  size  ever  roared,  the 
gamy  leviathan  was  no  sooner  laid  alongside  than,  with 
a  vigorous  swish  of  his  tail  (both  feet  planted  squarely 
in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  of  the  trim  vahine  who  chanced 
to  be  representing  the  adjacent  piece  of  taffrail)  he 
stove  a  gaping  hole  in  the  schooner's  hull.  An  instant 
later  his  "triple  row  of  barbed  teeth"  had  closed  on  the 


178    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

arm  of  the  slender  miss  who,  sitting  on  the  shoulders  of 
a  lengthy  Kanaka,  was  dancing  the  part  of  the  main- 
mast, and  brought  her  crashing  to  the  deck,  squealing 
like  a  roped  pig.  The  "cutting  up"  of  the  shark,  owing 
to  this  obstreperousness,  must  have  been  a  bit  more 
realistic  than  usual,  for  he  still  bore  marks  of  it  when  I 
encountered  him  in  Papeete  a  week  later. 

After  being  "careened"  for  repairs  the  schooner,  her 
hold  bulging  with  pearls,  got  up  sail  again  and  started 
for  home,  only  to  encounter  the  inevitable  hurricane  and 
go  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  to  the  same  unleashed  fury  of 
wind  and  waves  and  thunder  that  had  uprooted  the  coco- 
nuts. For  some  minutes  spars,  planks  and  other  bits 
of  wreckage,  imploring  help  at  the  tops  of  their  lungs, 
eddied  and  swirled  about  the  greensward;  then  a  resist- 
less current  bore  them  relentlessly  toward  the  wine 
calabashes  in  the  "green  room"  and  the  "Pearling 
Schooner  Dance"  was  over. 

In  the  good  doctor's  original  plan  of  the  evening's 
entertainment  several  more  dances  of  the  nature  of  those 
just  described  were  called  for,  but  the  carelessness  of  the 
commissariat  in  dealing  out  the  orange  wine  too  rapidly 
ordained  otherwise.  The  sounds  of  revelry  from  the 
"green  room"  were  keying  higher  every  moment,  and 
our  host's  apprehensiveness  showed  in  the  quick  glow- 
ings  and  palings  of  his  nervously  puffed  cigarette. 
When,  instead  of  the  sober  himine  which  opens  up  the 
burlesque  "Missionary  Dance,"  there  sounded  the  wail 
of  accordions,  the  roll  of  shark-hide  drums  and  the  clear, 
deep-throated  voices  of  the  girls  in  the  preliminary 
strains  of  the  "Nuptial  Hula"  he  sprang  to  his  feet  to 
explode  into  excited  Anglo-German-Tahitian  with 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI     179 

"Nein!  Nein!  Das  1st  nichts  was  I  tells  them.  Hare! 
Hare!  Go  back  mit  you,  you  teufels!"  But  he  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  stem  the  tide  of  the  Pacific  as  that 
swirling  onrush  from  the  "green  room." 

By  this  time  the  shaft  of  lunar  calcium,  broadening 
slightly  as  the  moon  rose,  had  moved  across  the  dancing 
floor  till  its  outer  side  was  just  beginning  to  encroach 
upon  our  mat-covered  dais,  so  that  instead  of  "back  row, 
left,"  as  at  first,  our  seats  now  occupied  approximately 
the  position  of  "First  row,  Orchestra,  centre."  We 
were  in  the  "bald-headed  row"  with  a  vengeance,  and 
just  at  the  right  time. 

Like  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves  charging  down  upon  a 
fold  of  lambs,  the  Bacchic  throng  swarmed  out  of  the 
shadows  into  the  spot-light  about  our  dais,  and  threw 
itself  with  the  reckless  abandon  born  of  three  hours  of 
steady  tippling  at  the  wine  calabashes  into  the  sinuous 
writhing  of  a  dance  rarely  performed  in  the  past  except 
at  the  wedding  feasts  of  royalty,  and  now,  as  it  is  strictly 
against  the  French  law,  almost  never  under  any  circum- 
stances. 

To  a  spectator  watching  from  a  distance  some  sug- 
gestion of  rhythm  and  unity  might  have  been  apparent 
in  the  movement  of  the  dance ;  from  our  advanced  posi- 
tion, as  to  a  man  in  the  thick  of  a  battle,  the  general  ac- 
tion was  lost  sight  of  in  the  wealth  of  local  interest. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  fix  your  attention  on 
the  nearest  dancer  and  hope,  as  at  a  multi-ringed  circus, 
that  nothing  of  greater  interest  was  going  on  anywhere 
else.  Once  your  attention  was  fixed  it  was  not  likely 
to  go  wandering  far  afield  in  search  of  a  new  centre 
of  interest. 


180     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

As  an  exhibition  of  eccentric  muscular  action  alone, 
this  dance  is  worth  making  a  journey  to  the  South 
Pacific  to  see.  In  the  slow  opening  movements,  to  a 
seductive  half -crooning,  half-chirping  air,  it  is  as  though 
every  square  inch  of  the  oil-glistening  form  before  you 
is  trying  to  move  in  a  different  direction.  There  is 
something  of  the  suggestion  of  a  coiling  and  uncoiling 
snake  in  it;  something  of  that  of  the  twisting  green 
stream  of  water  where  it  shoots  between  two  mid-stream 
boulders;  something  of  that  of  the  whirling  columns  of 
the  "dust-devils"  of  the  desert. 

But  what  comparison  can  you  find  for  the  wild  thing 
that  springs  into  life  as  the  music  quickens  and  the  in- 
toxication of  the  sensuous  dance  enters  into  the  blood  of 
the  dancers?  There  is  still  a  suggestion  of  the  former 
undulating  sinuousity  of  motion,  but  at  a  trip-hammer 
speed  which  defies  the  eye  to  follow  it;  a  double-action, 
reciprocating,  triple-expansion  shiver,  beginning  at  the 
plume-tips  and  ending  at  the  toes,  that  would  make  a 
Newfoundland  dog  shaking  himself  after  a  bath  look 
like  a  stuffed  museum  specimen  in  comparison. 

For  a  minute,  or  two,  or  three — one  loses  count  of 
time  when  elemental  forces  like  these  are  loosed — this 
rapid-fire  action  continues;  then  they  all  sink  into 
quivering  heaps  on  the  grass,  with  just  enough  breath 
left  to  raise  feeble  cries  for  the  wine  calabashes,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  led  W to  remark  that  their  en- 
thusiasm for  the  dance  had  probably  been  due  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  "shaking  for  the  drinks." 

That  which  was  just  finished  was  the  first  of  the  three 
climacteric  "movements"  of  the  "Nuptial  Hula'3  ex- 
plained the  doctor  in  the  short  rest  interval.  He  had 


THE  SONG  AND  DANCE  IN  TAHITI    181 

not  expected  that  it  would  be  danced,  but  now  that  it 
was  started  it  would  be  an  unpardonable  breach  of  eti- 
quette to  try  to  stop  it.  "Bezides,"  he  added,  chuckling, 
"you  chentlemen  haf  bewail  der  decadence  of  der  hula 
in  Tahiti,  und  said  der  white  man  can  not  der  'real  thing' 
see.  In  one  leetle  minute  you  der  'real  thing'  shall  see, 
yes." 

And  we  did !  But  my  most  earnest  efforts  would  fall 
so  far  short  of  doing  it  justice  that  I  have  thought  it 
best  not  to  court  certain  failure  by  attempting  descrip- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  X 

BY   THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE 

THE  French  islands  of  the  South  Pacific  perform 
satisfactorily  the  regulation  duty  of  all  the  other  of  that 
republic's  tropical  colonies — that  of  furnishing  a  retreat 
for  a  governor,  secretary,  judge  and  three  or  four  other 
high  officials  during  such  time  as  they  may  require  to 
accumulate  fortunes  sufficient  to  permit  them  to  return 
to  Paris  and  ease  for  a  good  portion,  if  not  all  the  rest, 
of  their  lives;  also  for  a  small  army  of  minor  officials 
who  have  no  chance  to  accumulate  enough  to  take  them 
to  Paris.  These  latter  young  gentlemen  work — or 
rather  sit  at  desks — six  hours  a  day,  drink  absinthe  six 
hours,  and  dream  absinthe  dreams  the  remainder  of  the 
twenty-four. 

Besides  a  regiment  of  soldiers  and  a  gunboat  or  two, 
it  takes  something  over  half  a  thousand  officials  to  ad- 
minister the  affairs  of  dreamy  Tahiti.  Departments 
which  in  India,  Java  or  even  the  Philippines  would  be 
handled  by  two  or  three  men,  with  enough  time  over  for 
morning  horseback  rides  and  tennis  or  cricket  in  the  eve- 
nings, are  here  in  the  hands  of  a  substantial  mob. 
There  are  -about  a  half  dozen  cases  of  petty  larceny,  and 
the  same  number  of  battery,  -a  year,  but  the  bench  is 
occupied  by  close  to  half  a  score  of  august  judges.  The 
annual  value  of  the  shipping  of  all  the  150 — more  or  less 
— French  islands  in  the  Southeastern  Pacific — the  Mar- 
quesas, Paumotos  and  Societies — is  not  equal  to  a  sea- 

182 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          183 

son's  output  of  a  single  large  Hawaiian  sugar  mill,  yet 
the  financial  and  commercial  officials  are  numbered  in 
three  figures. 

What  do  they  all  do?  Probably  no  one  really  knows; 
but  come  into  the  gentlest  of  contacts  with  the  govern- 
ment, even  as  a  passing  tourist,  and  you  will  begin  to  get 
an  inkling.  You  are  not  likely  soon  to  forget  those  two 
days  in  which  you  cooled  your  heels  in  fourteen  differ- 
ent corners  of  Pomare's  old  palace  in  endeavouring  to 
make  your  honour  white  in  the  matter  of  that  box  of 
Havanas  you  forgot  to  declare  when  you  landed.  That 
cost  you  forty  francs  in  all,  didn't  it?  And  then  there 
was  that  day  and  a  half  that  you  and  the  Consul  spent 
in  trying  to  find  out  to  whom  you  should  apologize  be- 
cause your  boatmen  tied  up  for  ten  minutes  to  the  butt 
of  an  old  cannon  that  was  sacred  to  the  mooring  lines 
of  that  majestic  gunboat,  Zelee.  You  conferred  with 
twenty-one  underlings  and  eight  overlings — most  of 
them  through  interpreters — before  you  found  that  it  was 
the  Capitaine  de  Gendarmes  you  must  tell  you  were 
sorry.  And  then  there  was  that  mess  you  got  into  the 
time  you  inadvertently  strolled  down  the  path  to  a 
leper's  gardenia-wreathed  doorway  and  asked  for  a 
drink  of  coconut  water.  You  were  perfectly  willing  to 
go  and  take  a  formaldehyde  shower-bath,  but  was  it 
really  necessary  to  be  marched  about  by  a  squad  of 
gendarmes  to  eight  different  departments  in  order  to 
have  that  auspicious  event  officially  recorded? 

Yes,  while  Tahiti  continues  to  harbour  law-breaking 
visitors  like  yourself  there  is  going  to  be  ample  work 
for  all  of  those  five  hundred  officials.  But  at  your 
worst,  you  are  only  going  to  be  able  to  claim  their  atten- 


184    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

tion  during  six  hours  of  the  day,  leaving  them  eighteen 
hours  for  their  own  affairs.  What  is  it  occupies  them 
in  their  "lighter  hours"?  Men  are  more  readily  judged 
at  play  than  at  work.  You  have  seen  them  at  work; 
now  let  us  watch  them  at  play.  The  Cercle  Colonial, 
it  is  said,  will  show  us  what  we  want  to  see. 

The  Cercle  is  a  low,  rambling  structure  of  aching 
white,  cooled  by  green  trees,  green  blinds  and  green 
drinks.  You  have  seen  in  the  great  republic's  tropical 
outposts  these  little  clubs  which  have  not  been  shaded 
by  green  trees;  one  or  two  may  even  be  recalled  which 
have  not  had  the  green  blinds;  but  a  Cercle  Colonial — 
or  Militaire — without  the  green  drinks — never. 

"Where  flaps  the  tri-colour,  there  flows  the  absinthe." 

You  are  not  certain  who  first  enunciated  this  great 
truth,  nor  where  you  first  heard  it ;  sufficient  that  it  has 
become  a  law  as  inflexible  as  that  of  gravity.  Haul 
down  the  one,  and  the  other'  will  cease  to  flow.  Stop 
the  flow  of  the  other,  and  the  one  will  cease  to  flap. 
Certain  French  patriots  who  are  strangers  to  the  French 
tropics  may  indignantly  question  the  truth  of  the  latter 
statement;  these  you  may  respectfully  request  to  cite 
you  a  single  instance  where  those  respective  symbols  of 
their  republic  are  flapping  and  flowing  independently. 

Certain  of  the  best  paid  Tahitian  officials  straggle 
home  to  France  every  other  year  or  so  by  Suez  or  Amer- 
ica, others  send  intermittent  letters  to  their  loved  ones 
by  the  irregular  post;  but  when  all  is  said  and  done  the 
only  really  well  established  line  of  communication  be- 
tween the  island  paradise  and  Paris  is  the  "absinthe 
route." 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          185 

"I'd  envy  these  poor  devils  their  nocturnal  trips  from 
'hell  to  home/  "  one  of  the  foreign  consuls  in  Papeete  is 
quoted  as  saying,  "if  it  wasn't  for  the  fact  that  they  are 
always  doomed  to  sail  with  return  tickets.  Coming  out 
of  any  old  kind  of  a  dream  is  more  or  less  of  a  shock ;  but 
coming  out  of  the  Mussulman  paradise  of  an  absinthe 
dream  is  staggering.  Just  about  one  a  month  of  these 
young  chaps  decides  that  twelve  hours  is  too  long  to  wait 
for  the  inauguration  of  another  dream,  and  in  the  pale 
of  the  dawn  launches  himself  off  on  the  journey  for 
which  no  return  ticket  can  be  foisted  onto  him.  The 
suicide  rate  in  Noumea,  the  prison  colony,  is  higher  than 
here,  and,  I  am  told,  Saigon,  Martinique,  Guadeloupe 
and  Cayenne  are  worse  still.  Funny  thing,  too,  they 
all  do  it  at  the  same  time — sunrise — probably  because  it's 
the  hour  when  the  dream  shapes  begin  to  grow  thin  and 
intangible,  and  day,  with  its  galling  grind  of  realities, 
looms  blankly  in  pitiless  imminence." 

"A  poor  lot,"  you  say.  Perhaps.  But  before  judg- 
ing let  us  watch  them  for  awhile  at  the  Cercle  Colonial. 
It  is  there  that  they  are  to  be  seen  embarking,  and  in 
transit  on,  and  returning  by,  "the  absinthe  route." 

It  is  four  o'clock  of  a  May  afternoon  in  Papeete,  and 
the  stream  of  the  Southeast  Trade,  clogged  and  ob- 
structed by  the  suffocating  puffs  of  humid  air  that 
have  rolled  in  since  morning  from  the  oily  sea  which 
stretches  in  unheaving  indolence  to  the  equator,  has 
ceased  to  flow.  The  glaring  coral  streets  throw  back 
the  blazing  sunlight  like  rivers  of  molten  tin;  the  dis- 
tended blossoms  of  hau  and  hibiscus  fall  heavily  in  the 
puddly  air,  to  break  and  scatter  like  glass  on  striking  the 


186    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ground.  Everything  of  the  earth  glows,  everything  of 
the  air  gasps  in  the  swimming  waves  of  the  clinging 
heat. 

The  shaded  walls  of  the  Cercle  Colonial  hold  still  a 
modicum  of  last  night's  coolness,  and  the  closely-drawn 
green  blinds  of  the  lounging  room  check  the  onrush  of 
the  calid  flood  from  without.  The  man  with  the  gold 
lace  on  his  ripped-open  collar,  sitting  on  the  corner 
toward  the  silent  billiard  room,  is  an  officer  from  the 
barracks;  he  with  the  tanned  face  and  the  imperial  in 
the  opposite  corner  is  the  commander  of  the  gunboat  in 
the  harbour ;  the  youth  with  the  opera  bouffe  moustache 
and  the  eyes  of  a  roue  at  the  table  by  the  palm  is  the 
disgraced  son  of  a  rich  Marseilles  merchant,  whose  quar- 
terly remittances  are  payable  only  in  Papeete.  They 
all  know  each  other,  but  by  an  unspoken  mutual  under- 
standing have  separated  as  widely  as  possible.  Men 
do  not  drink  for  sociability  on  a  day  like  this,  for  he 
who  lives  in  the  tropics  realizes  what  the  inhabitant  of 
cooler  latitudes  knows  but  hazily,  that  the  mental  con- 
sciousness of  human  propinquity,  even  without  the  effort 
of  conversation,  raises  temperature. 

The  government  offices  across  the  way  have  just 
brought  their  short  day  of  perfunctory  work  to  a  close, 
and  such  of  the  officials  as  have  membership  in  the 
Cercle  Colonial  come  hurrying — the  first  unlistless 
movement  they  have  made  since  morning — up  the  blos- 
som-strewn walk.  They  slip  through  the  green  spring 
doors  like  thieves  in  jealous  efforts  to  shut  out  the  fur- 
nace-like blast  which  pursues  them  into  the  tepid  in- 
terior, and  a  low  growl  of  disapproval  from  all  sides 
greets  the  man  who  is  so  thoughtless  as  to  enter  leisurely. 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          187 

Each  goes  to  a  separate  table,  and  when  there  are  no 
unoccupied  tables  left  the  newcomer  drags  his  chair  to 
a  window  ledge  or  up  to  the  encircling  wall-shelf  at  the 
top  of  the  wainscoting. 

The  waiters  work  noiselessly  and  expeditiously. 
There  are  no  orders  taken.  Each  man  is  noted  by  the 
watchful  garpon,  and  to  him  is  instantly  brought  a  large 
glass  of  cracked  ice  and  a  green  bottle.  After  that, 
except  for  occasional  replenishings  of  the  ice,  he  needs 
no  attention. 

Before  long  a  change  comes  over  the  spirit  of  the 
place,  a  revivification  like  that  which  comes  to  a  field  of 
drought-parched  wild  flowers  at  the  first  touch  of  long- 
awaited  raindrops.  Watch  it  working  in  that  yellow- 
skinned  youth  by  the  darkened  window.  Plainly  a 
"transfer"  from  the  prison  colony  at  Noumea,  he,  with 
the  dregs  of  the  pernicious  New  Caledonian  fever  still 
clogging  his  blood.  By  the  ink  on  his  forefinger  you 
put  him  down  as  in  some  kind  of  a  departmental  billet. 
He  slipped  through  the  door  but  a  moment  ago  and  the 
garpon  had  his  glass  of  ice  and  bottle  ready  on  the  win- 
dow ledge  almost  before  he  was  seated.  He  spilled  the 
absinthe  over  the  sides  of  the  glass  in  his  eagerness  to 
fill  it,  and  in  spite  of  the  cracked  ice  it  still  must  have 
been  far  from  the  delectable  frappe  of  the  conoisseur 
when  he  gulped  it  down.  A  second  pouring  of  the 
warm  liqueur  took  up  the  remaining  ice  and  he  has 
called  for  more. 

But  now  note  him  as  he  waits  for  his  glass  to  be  re- 
plenished. Has  a  spirit  hand  passed  across  his  brow 
and  smoothed  out  those  lines  of  weariness  and  ill-health? 
Perhaps  not,  but  they  are  gone  nevertheless,  and  a  tinge 


188     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  colour  is  creeping  into  the  sallow  cheeks.  Now  he 
gathers  his  relaxed  muscles  and  pulls  his  slender  frame 
together.  The  thin  shoulders  are  thrown  back,  the 
sunken  chest  expanded,  and  with  open  mouth  and  dis- 
tended nostrils,  like  a  man  who  comes  from  a  hot,  stuffy 
hall  out  into  the  cool  air  of  the  open  street,  he  takes  sev- 
eral deep,  quick  breaths. 

'  You,  who  know  the  futility  of  drinking  anything  alco- 
holic or  narcotic  in  endeavouring  to  keep  cool  and  have, 
therefore,  only  sipped  your  glass  of  lime  juice  and  soda, 
can  swear  that  the  air  of  the  place,  far  from  growing 
fresher,  is  getting  closer  and  hotter  every  moment. 
But  don't  waste  your  time  trying  to  convince  the  young 
man  by  the  window  to  that  effect.  It's  cooler  air  to  him 
— yes,  and  to  every  one  else  in  the  room  but  yourself 
with  your  foolish  lime  juice  and  soda.  See  them  sitting 
up  and  inhaling  it  all  around  you. 

You  have  seen  the  stolid  Britisher  thaw  out  and  wax 
sociable  after  his  first  or  second  brandy-and-soda,  and 
perhaps  you  expect  something  of  the  kind  is  going  to 
happen  here.  But  no — the  brandy-and-soda  and  the 
absinthe  routes  start  from  the  same  place,  but  their 
directions  are  diametrically  opposite.  The  brandy-and- 
soda  addictee  expands  externally,  the  absinthe  drinker 
expands  internally;  the  one  drink  strikes  out,  the  other 
strikes  in.  The  Britisher  cannot  forget  himself  until 
he  has  had  a  couple  of  brandy-and-sodas ;  with  two 
glasses  of  absinthe  the  Frenchman  only  commences  to 
realize  himself.  Don't  look  for  any  flow  of  the  soul  to 
accompany  the  flow  of  the  bowl,  then;  these  exiles  are 
only  going  the  absinthe  route ;  they  are  off  for  home. 
Turn  your  attention  again  to  the  youth  by  the  dark- 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          189 

ened  window.  A  fresh  glass  of  cracked  ice  is  before 
him  and  he  is  pouring  himself  another  drink.  Ah! 
there  is  your  real  absinthe  artist  now.  See  with  how 
steady  a  hand  he  pours  that  unvarying  thread  of  a 
trickle ;  not  faster  than  that  must  it  go,  not  slower.  See 
him  turn  the  glass  to  the  light  to  mark  the  progress  of 
the  green  stain  in  the  white  body  of  the  cracked  ice.  As 
it  touches  the  bottom  the  pouring  stops,  the  glass  is 
twirled  once  or  twice  and  then  lifted  to  the  lips  and 
drained.  Just  as  much  water  as  a  thread-sized  trickle 
of  warm  absinthe  will  melt  from  the  ice  in  finding  its 
way  to  the  bottom  of  the  glass  and  back  to  the  rim; 
offer  it  to  him  any  other  way,  after  those  first  mad 
gulps,  and  he  would  probably  refuse  it.  Thus  absinthe 
a  la  Cercle  Colonial  de  Papeete. 

At  five  or  half  past,  an  army  officer  looks  at  his  watch, 
stretches  himself,  yawns,  pours  a  final  hasty  glass  and 
picks  his  reluctant  way  to  the  door  and  out  into  the  still, 
stifling  air.  Two  officers  of  the  gunboat  follow  suit, 
and  from  then  on  till  seven  o'clock  dinner-time,  by  occa- 
sional twos  and  threes,  but  for  the  most  part  singly,  a 
half,  perhaps,  of  the  strange  company — at  the  call  of 
family,  military  or  social  duties — takes  its  departure. 
The  residue — unmarried  officers,  departmental  officials 
and  a  few  unclassified — is  made  up  of  the  regular 
voyageurs;  you  will  find  them  still  in  their  places  when 
you  look  in  again  after  dinner. 

As  you  saunter  down  to  the  hotel  in  the  gathering 
twilight,  you  note  that  the  hot,  humid  air-body  of  the 
afternoon  is  cut  here  and  there  with  strata  of  coolness 
which,  descending  from  above,  are  creating  numerous 
erratic  little  whirlwinds  that  dodge  hither  and  thither 


190  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

at  every  turn.  In  the  west  hangs  the  remains  of  an 
ugly  copper-and-sulphur  sunset,  in  the  north  is  an  un- 
broken line  of  olive-and-coal-dust  clouds,  and,  even  in 
your  inexperience,  you  hardly  need  to  note  the  29.70 
reading  on  the  hotel  lanai  barometer  to  tell  you  that 
there  is  going  to  be  wind  before  midnight.  The  air  is 
vibrant  with  the  thrill  of  "something  coming,"  and  from 
the  waterfront,  where  they  have  known  what  to  expect 
since  morning,  rises  the  rattle  of  winches,  the  growl  of 
hurried  orders  and  the  mellow,  rhythmic  chanting  of 
natives  swaying  on  anchor  chains  and  mooring  lines  as 
the  trading  schooners  are  "snugged  up"  in  their  berths 
along  the  sea-wall. 

Nine  o'clock  at  the  Cercle  Colonial.  The  jalousies 
have  been  opened  during  your  absence  and  are  now 
being  closed  again,  this  time  to  keep  out  the  scurrying 
vanguards  of  the  rising  wind.  The  air  is  cooler  now, 
and  you  give  the  waiter  the  recipe  for  an  American  gin 
fizz,  to  receive  something  in  return  which  refuses  to  fizz 
and  is  built,  apparently,  on  a  bayrum  base.  You  solace 
yourself  with  the  thought  that  you  didn't  come  for  a 
drink,  anyway,  and  turn  your  attention  to  your  friends 
of  the  afternoon,  the  voyageurs  by  the  absinthe  route. 
Most  of  them  seem  to  have  "arrived"  by  this  time,  and  if 
they  are  aware  at  all  of  the  relief  of  the  cooling  atmos- 
phere, it  is  only  to  tell  themselves  that  it  is  good  to 
breathe  again  the  air  of  la  belle  France  after  those  ac- 
cursed tropics.  Each  sits  solitary,  as  when  you  left  two 
hours  ago,  but  where  they  were  then  separated  by  a  few 
scant  yards  at  the  most,  they  are  now  scattered  from 
Paris  to  the  Riviera,  from  Chamonix  to  Trouville. 

But  it  is  plain  that  it  is  Paris  with  the  most  of  them. 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          191 

The  youth  with  the  yellow  face  is  still  in  his  chair  by  the 
window,  but  his  eyes  are  now  fixed  admiringly  on  a  col- 
oured lithograph  of  a  ballet  dancer — an  Illustration 
supplement — in  its  black  frame  upon  the  wall.  Maybe 
he's  doing  the  Louvre,  you  think,  and  looking  at  the 
pictures.  But  no — look  at  his  eyes.  That  picture  is 
flesh  and  blood  for  him.  She's  the  headliner  at  the 
Folies  Bergere,  and  she's  coming  down  to  drink  with 
him  as  soon  as  the  crowd  stops  those  accursed  encores 
and  lets  her  leave  the  stage.  And  don't  those  eyes  tell 
you  how  well  worth  waiting  for  he  knows  she  is? 

That  dapper  young  chap  with  the  "spike"  moustache 
and  the  lieutenant's  epaulettes  who  sits  so  straight  in 
his  chair,  where  is  he?  The  Champs  Elysees,  without 
a  doubt.  Riding?  No,  walking.  Don't  you  see  the 
swagger  of  his  shoulders ;  and  that  twitching  movement 
of  the  fingers  is  the  twirling  of  his  cane?  Didn't  you  see 
him  stiffen  up  and  twist  his  moustaches  as  he  looked 
your  way  just  now?  No,  he  didn't  care  a  rap  about 
impressing  the  Yankee  visitor  to  Tahiti;  you  were  a 
carriage  or  a  motor  car  with  the  latest  opera  favourite 
in  it  pulled  up  against  the  curb. 

That  tall  civilian  there,  with  the  grey  hair  at  the  tem- 
ples and  the  dissipated  but  high  bred  face — you  recog- 
nize him  now  as  one  of  the  highest  officials  on  the  island, 
who,  they  told  you  at  the  hotel,  had  been  "reduced"  to 
Tahiti  as  punishment  for  his  peculations  while  occupy- 
ing an  important  place  in  Algeria — is  at  Maxim's. 
That  chair  across  the  top  of  which  he  is  gazing  so  in- 
tently is  not  as  empty  to  him  as  it  looks  to  you.  There 
— didn't  you  see  his  lips  move?  You  wonder  who  she 
is  and  what  he  is  telling  her. 


192     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

That  other  civilian  with  the  clear  cut  profile  and  the 
concentrated  gaze  of  the  professional  man  and  thinker— 
ah,  he  is  the  learned  Parisian  doctor  from  whom  the 
medical  world  has  awaited  for  two  years  the  announce- 
ment of  the  discovery  of  a  cure  for  the  dreaded  elephan- 
tiasis. He  had  his  goal  and  deathless  renown  in  sight 
months  ago,  you  have  been  told,  when,  in  a  spell  of 
homesickness,  he  began  drinking  and  "seeing  green," 
and  since  that  time,  through  the  demoralization  of  his 
special  hospital  and  the  loss  of  certain  cultures  of  in- 
calculable value,  has  slipped  back  almost  to  where  he 
began.  That  must  be  a  clinic  for  which  he  is  drawing 
those  intricate  sketches  with  his  cigarette  holder  on  the 
marble  table  top. 

But  what  of  that  portly  old  gentleman  with  the 
benevolent  smile  and  the  beaming  eyes?  That's  a  Col- 
onel's uniform,  is  it  not?  How  well  he  looks  the  part! 
But  do  you  think  he  is  with  the  others  in  the  cafes 
chantant  or  on  the  boulevards  ?  Look  again,  you  world 
dried  dog.  Didn't  you  note  the  tenderness  in  that 
smile?  The  old  Colonel  has — or  has  had — a  wife  and 
children.  A  look  like  that  for  a  concert  hall  girl  1  Not 
ever.  He  is  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  May  he  be 
the  last  of  them  all  to  wake  from  his  dream. 

Ah,  you  know  that  bronzed  giant  with  the  shoulders 
and  brow  of  a  Viking  and  the  eyes  that  pierce  like 
rapiers  of  steel  with  their  eagle  glance.  He  was 
shipped  off  to  the  "Islands,"  a  "Ticket-of-Leavester," 
from  Sydney  five  years  ago,  and  since  then  he  has  gained 
the  reputation  of  being  the  most  daring  "black-birder," 
smuggler  and  illicit  pearler  in  the  South  Pacific.  He's 
rolling  in  money  and  lives  like  a  prince,  with  "establish- 


BY  THE  ABSINTHE  ROUTE          193 

ments"  in  every  group  between  the  Marquesas  and  New 
Zealand.  Last  night  you  were  inclined  to  scoff  when  he 
came  off  to  the  yacht  and  told  how  he  had  won  his 
"Triple  Blue"  at  Cambridge,  played  in  Interregimental 
polo  at  Hurlingham  and  raced  his  own  string  at  New- 
market. You  had  heard  his  type  of  "bounder"  rattle  on 
before,  you  said.  But  now  look  at  him.  There's  more 
manhood  and  less  depravity  in  the  devil-may-care  face 
than  there  was  last  night.  And  note  the  set  of  his 
shoulders,  the  tenseness  of  his  hands.  Pulling  an  oar? 
No.  You  don't  know  cricket,  do  you?  Well,  ten  to 
one  yon  "Ticket-of-Leavestser"  thinks  he  is  at  Lord's, 
and  batting  to  save  his  County.  What  an  incongruous 
figure  he  is  amongst  the  rapt  boulevardiers ! 

But  listen  to  the  noise  outside!  The  hurricane  is 
sweeping  in  from  the  sea  and  the  outer  reef  is  roaring 
like  an  avalanche.  But  why  no  sign  of  excitement  from 
the  silent  dreamers?  Is  it  because  they  are  telling 
themselves  that  it  is  only  the  roar  of  the  traffic  on  the 
Parisian  pavements?  Listen  to  those  clanging  bells 
and  the  frantic  choruses  of  yells  which  sound  above  the 
threshing  of  the  trees  and  the  grind  of  the  surf!  Only 
a  fire — fires  are  common  in  Montmartre — they  tell  them- 
selves, and  go  on  with  their  dreams. 

Now  the  batteries  of  the  storm  have  got  their  ranges 
and  the  shot  begins  to  fly.  Snap !  Bang!  Hear  those 
coco  trunks  cracking,  and  right  around  the  club,  too. 
Ah!  this  will  rouse  somebody. 

With  a  heavy  crash  the  top  of  a  broken  palm  is  thrown 
against  a  shuttered  window  and  the  glass  and  bottle  of 
the  sallow-faced  youth  smash  to  pieces  upon  the  floor. 
That  will  fetch  him  surely.  But  still  no.  Pouf! 


194     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Broken  glass  is  as  common  as  diamonds  at  the  Folies. 
He  beckons  for  the  waiter  to  bring  him  more  absinthe 
and  ice  and  turns  again  his  eager  eyes  to  his  picture 
lady,  where  she  is  still  pirouetting  through  another  in- 
terminable encore. 

But  hark  again!  There  is  a  fresh  tumult  outside, 
this  time  a  shrill  whistling  and  the  tramp  of  feet  on  the 
veranda,  followed  by  a  banging  at  the  door.  A  moment 
more  and  a  captain  of  gendarmes  appears  and  shouts 
something  in  excited,  gesticulative  French.  You  fail  to 
catch  the  drift  of  it  and  ask  a  waiter.  A  half  dozen 
schooners  are  pounding  to  pieces  on  the  sea  wall, 
screams  the  garpon  as  he  is  hustled  off  by  a  gendarme, 
and  the  police  are  impressing  all  the  men  they  can  lay 
hands  on  for  rescue  work — the  "law  of  the  beach" 
through  all  the  South  Pacific. 

Dazed  and  speechless  with  consternation,  the  unlucky 
dreamers  are  hustled  to  their  feet  by  the  not  any  too 
gentle  officers  and  shoved  out  into  the  night,  where  half 
a  minute  of  rain  and  wind  and  driving  spindrift  punch 
the  return  portions  of  their  round-trip  tickets  to  Paris 
and  leave  them  on  the  Papeete  water  front  with  an 
incipient  hurricane  ahead  of  them  and  the  rough-handed 
gendarmes  behind. 

The  awakening  is  not  always  so  violent  as  this,  but 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  peaceful  disembarkation  at 
the  end  of  the  return  trip  by  the  absinthe  route,  who- 
ever puts  up  the  gangway. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PAPEETE   TO   PAGO   PAGO 

SITUATED  well  around  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  is- 
land of  Tahiti,  with  the  great  8000-foot  peak  of  Orohena 
cutting  off  all  but  stray  gusts  of  the  Trade  wind,  Papeete 
harbour  is  ordinarily  as  placid  a  bit  of  looped-in  water 
as  ever  mirrored  in  its  depths  the  silver  disc  of  the  tropic 
moon.  Seaward  the  reef  intercepts  the  surf  as  com- 
pletely as  does  the  volcano  the  wind  from  the  opposite 
direction,  and  with  the  latter  blowing  from  the  south- 
east, where  it  belongs,  the  inner  bay  is  safe  for  even  the 
slenderest  of  outrigger  canoes  when  the  state  of  the 
weather  outside  is  such  as  to  keep  the  mail  steamer  at  its 
dock.  The  trading  schooners,  each  with  a  couple  of 
frizzled  mooring  lines  run  out  to  convenient  buraos  or 
banyans,  lie  right  against  the  tottering  sea-wall,  and 
even  the  dock  of  the  San  Francisco  and  Auckland  boats 
is  hardly  more  than  a  raised  platform  on  the  bank. 

No  one  seems  to  dream  that  there  is  ever  going  to  be 
other  than  southeast  weather,  and  no  one  makes  pro- 
vision against  anything  else.  Then  some  fine  day  a 
hurricane  comes  boring  in  from  the  north  or  west,  and 
when  it  is  over  the  survivors  salve  pieces  of  ship  out  of 
the  tops  of  the  coco  palms,  and  perhaps  some  of  them 
living  a  quarter  of  a  mile  inland,  finding  a  schooner 
lodged  in  their  taro  patch,  prop  it  up  on  an  even  keel  and 
use  it  in  place  of  the  house  of  thatch  which  has  been 

195 


196     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

resolved  into  its  component  parts  by  the  storm.  In  a 
few  weeks  every  one  but  the  missionaries — who,  by  the 
way,  are  much  given  to  picturing  hell  for  the  natives, 
not  as  a  hot  place,  but  as  an  island  where  the  lost  souls 
are  endlessly  tossed  by  aeon-long  hurricanes — has  for- 
gotten all  about  the  storm,  and  is  as  liable  as  ever  to  be 
caught  napping  when  the  next  one  comes  along. 

We  reached  Tahiti  somewhat  too  early  for  hurricanes, 
but  a  very  good  imitation  one  in  the  form  of  a  north- 
west squall  was  brought  off  for  our  benefit,  which  left 
very  little  to  the  imagination  regarding  what  a  real  blow 
from  that  direction  might  mean.  It  is  only  the  unex- 
pected that  is  a  serious  menace  to  the  careful  skipper, 
as  I  have  mentioned  before,  and  it  is  in  this  respect  that 
one  of  these  sudden  twisters,  coming  with  a  fierceness 
beyond  description  from  an  unlikely  quarter,  may  work 
irreparable  harm  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  where  a  hur- 
ricane, heralded  for  hours,  perhaps  days,  by  a  falling 
barometer,  may,  in  a  large  measure,  be  prepared  for 
or  avoided. 

The  thing  occurred  one  evening  shortly  following  our 
arrival  in  Papeete,  just  after  three  days  of  hard  work 
had  obliterated  all  traces  of  the  internal  and  external 
wear  and  tear  incident  to  the  3000  miles  of  sailing  the 
yacht  had  done  since  leaving  Hawaii.  She  had  received 
a  fresh  coat  of  white  paint,  decks  had  been  scoured, 
hardwood  newly  oiled  and  the  brass  work  rubbed  to  the 
highest  degree  of  resplendency.  Sails  were  in  covers, 
awnings  up  fore-and-aft,  deck  cushions  out  of  their  sea 
jackets,  and,  in  short,  everything  made  ready  to  receive 
official  calls.  She  was  lying  to  her  port  anchor  with 
twenty-five  fathoms  of  chain  out.  A  kedge  astern  held 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  197 

her  head  to  the  prevailing  southeast  wind  and  kept  her 
from  swinging  with  the  tide. 

So  empty  of  threat  was  the  evening  that  the  crew, 
with  the  exception  of  the  single  sailor  whose  turn  it  was 
to  stand  the  anchor  watch,  had  been  given  shore  leave. 
The  rest  of  us,  tired  from  an  afternoon  of  the  ceremoni- 
ous calling  exigent  upon  the  newcomers  who  would 
break  the  ice  of  officialdom  in  any  French  colony,  were 
lounging  on  the  quarterdeck  and  in  the  cockpit,  glad  of 
the  chance  to  unstiff  en  and  be  quiet. 

It  was  a  night  drowsy  with  soporific  suggestiveness. 
Seaward  the  air  was  pulsing  to  the  drowsing  monotone 
of  the  surf  upon  the  reef,  rising  and  falling  at  regular 
intervals  like  the  heavy  breathing  of  a  tired  sleeper. 
Landward,  a  league  of  liquid  lullaby,  the  tiny  wavelets 
of  the  bay  tinkled  on  beach  and  sea-wall,  and  through 
the  rondure  of  blue-black  foliage  which  masked  the  vil- 
lage, lights  blinked  sleepily,  with  here  and  there  the 
tracery  of  a  palm  or  banana  frond  showing  in  dark  out- 
line against  the  warm  yellow  rectangle  of  an  open  door- 
way. The  yacht,  rocking  gently  as  a  cradle,  set  the 
Japanese  lanterns  around  the  awnings  nodding  in  lan- 
guorous lines,  and,  above  and  beyond,  clouds  and  stars 
rubbed  lazily  against  each  other  in  somnolent  jumble. 
The  spirit  hand  of  the  land  breeze  in  the  rigging  was 
sounding  the  "stand-by"  call  for  the  watch  of  Morpheus. 

The  arms  of  the  Sleep  God  must  have  enfolded  with 
especial  tenderness  the  hulking  frame  of  Heinrich,  the 
husky  Teuton  who  was  standing  anchor  watch,  for  an 
inky  splotch  of  cloud  had  grown  from  a  speck  on  the 
northeastern  horizon  to  a  bituminous  blur  that  blotted 
out  everything  in  that  quarter  from  the  zenith  down, 


198    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

before  he  raised  his  head  from  where  he  had  pillowed  it 
in  his  arms  upon  the  forecastle  ice  chest  and  roused  the 
ship  with  an  explosive  "Gott  in  Himmel!"  Simultane- 
ously with  that  of  Heinrich  there  was  another  explosion, 
like  the  bursting  of  a  Vial  of  Wrath,  and  forthwith  the 
gathering  squall  came  charging  in  across  the  Motu  Iti 
Quarantine  Station  on  the  reef  and  began  systematically 
scooping  dry  the  bottom  of  the  bay.  Spreading  like  an 
inverted  fan,  it  blotted  out  the  stars  to  east  and  west, 
and,  with  the  roar  of  a  battery  of  quick-firers,  swept 
down  upon  us  in  a  solid  wall  of  air  and  water,  only  a 
few  short,  nervous  puffs  of  wind  scurrying  uneasily  in 
advance. 

The  squall  was  swooping  down  to  strike  the  yacht  on 
her  port  quarter,  realizing  which,  we  hurriedly  buoyed 
the  line  to  the  now  useless  kedge  and  cast  it  loose.  So 
quiet  was  the  water  and  air  in  the  half -minute-long  in- 
terval before  the  wind  came  that  the  yacht  lay  motion- 
less, half -broadside  to  the  squall's  advance,  just  as  she 
had  been  stretched  to  the  kedge,  and  when  it  struck  her 
inertia  was  so  great  that  the  lee  rail  was  hove  well  under 
before  she  began  swinging.  The  lines  of  Japanese  lan- 
terns snapped  in  a  half  dozen  places  and  went  streaming 
off  to  leeward  like  the  tails  of  kites.  The  awnings  bel- 
lied monstrously  and  began  splitting  under  the  terrific 
uplift  of  the  wind ;  and  here  and  there  lashings  gave  way 
and  left  corners  threshing  desperately  for  freer  play. 

There  were  no  waves  at  first;  only  sheets  of  water 
torn  from  the  top  of  the  sea  and  thrown  on  ahead.  The 
air  was  fairly  clogged  with  spray,  and  the  yacht  was 
deluged  with  water,  fore  and  aft,  as  though  she  had  no 
more  freeboard  than  a  plank.  The  boats,  which  were 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  199 

made  fast  to  booms  run  out  on  either  side  amidships, 
worked  like  the  arms  of  Dutch  windmills,  and  one  of 
them,  as  the  yacht  reached  the  end  of  her  cable,  was 
tossed  bodily  over  its  boom,  to  land  bottom  up  and  fill. 

The  yacht  was  driven  across  the  arc  of  her  cable-sweep 
as  a  frightened  broncho  rushes  to  the  end  of  his  picket 
rope,  and  with  a  somewhat  similar  result.  The  anchor 
fouled  and  began  dragging.  So  swiftly  were  we  carried 
down  the  bay  that  it  seemed  inconceivable  that  there  was 
any  anchor  at  all  at  the  end  of  the  cable,  and  it  was  not 
until  later  that  we  ascertained  definitely  that  the  chain 
had  not  parted.  We  were  heading — or  rather  backing 
— at  an  angle  toward  the  sea-wall,  and  in  a  direction 
which  allowed  the  yacht  something  over  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  to  go  before  she  would  crash  into  the  line  of  schoon- 
ers moored  beyond  the  American  Consulate,  the  grind- 
ing and  pounding  among  which  became  distinctly  audi- 
ble as  the  interval  decreased. 

The  port  anchor  was  our  only  hope,  and  on  the  get- 
ting over  and  letting  go  of  this  the  Commodore  and 
Heinrich  began  furiously  working,  while  to  me,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  press-gang  composed  of  the  Mater,  Clari- 
bel  and  the  Chinese  cook,  was  delegated  the  task  of 
reducing  the  awnings,  the  great  spreads  of  which  were 
acting  as  sails  in  driving  the  yacht  the  quicker  to  an  ap- 
parently inevitable  doom.  That  there  would  be  ample 
chance  to  get  ashore  in  safety,  no  one  had  much  doubt ; 
but  more  indubitable  still  appeared  the  fact  that  we 
were  scheduled  to  have  a  graphic  illustration  of  the 
meaning  of  that  commonest  of  South  Sea  expressions, 
"piling  up  on  the  beach." 

The  port  anchor  was  let  go  and  the  awnings  brought 


200  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

to  a  fashion  of  a  furl  at  about  the  same  time,  and  six 
white  faces,  peering  anxiously  shoreward  for  results, 
only  paled  the  more  as  the  foam-white  belt  that  marked 
the  line  of  the  submerged  sea-wall  continued  to  grow 
perceptibly  nearer.  Stars  were  appearing  under  the 
lower  line  of  the  squall  along  the  northern  horizon,  but 
the  centre  of  the  disturbance  was  now  overhead,  and  the 
wind  had  increased  to  a  force  before  which  the  coco 
palms  along  the  bank  were  bending  to  the  ground  and 
snapping  with  sharp,  explosive  detonations.  A  piece 
of  steel  cable,  used  as  a  "hurricane  guy"  to  hold  down 
a  corner  of  the  Consulate  in  just  such  an  emergency  as 
the  present,  had  parted  under  the  strain  and  was  swiftly 
flailing  the  galvanized  iron  roof  of  the  veranda  to  pieces. 
The  clang  of  bells  resounded  through  the  town,  sum- 
moning aid  for  the  pounding  schooners  along  the  sea- 
wall, and  in  sheltered  corners  ashore  could  be  seen  black 
knots  of  men  gesticulating  wildly  in  the  light  of  lanterns. 
We  were  now  a  scant  fifty  feet  from  the  wall  in  front 
of  the  Consulate,  and  perhaps  twice  that  distance  from 
the  first  of  the  jumble  of  pounding  schooners,  the  big 
Eimoo,  the  largest  and  fastest  trader  that  sailed  from 
Tahiti.  The  seas  were  streaming  over  her  as  though 
she  was  a  surf -beaten  rock  on  a  stretch  of  iron-bound 
coast,  but  in  the  smother  on  her  forward  deck  some  of 
her  crew  could  be  seen  surging  round  the  capstan  in  a 
frantic  effort  to  haul  her  off  the  deadly  wall.  From  the 
ships  beyond  came  a  babel  of  shoutings  that  rose  above 
the  grind  and  pound  of  keels,  and  presently  these  keyed 
higher  into  yells  of  excitement  and  dismay  as  one  of  the 
schooners — luckily  the  last  in  line — broke  loose  and  be- 
gan battering  to  pieces  against  the  barrier  of  stone. 


A  TAHITIAN  COUPLE 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  201 

For  us  on  the  Lurline  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done.  Jewelry  and  other  portable  valuables  had  been 
tossed  into  a  canvas  sack,  and  the  Mater  and  Claribel, 
swathed  in  life-preservers,  hurriedly  coached  as  to  the 
proper  manner  of  jumping  ashore  from  the  taffrail  of  a 
grounded  yacht.  White  figures  had  appeared,  clinging 
to  the  pillars  of  the  Consulate  veranda,  ready — as  we 
afterwards  learned — to  rush  to  our  aid  when  the 
schooner  struck.  There  was  still  some  question  as  to 
whether  it  was  the  Eimoo  we  were  going  to  bump  first, 
or  the  wall;  or  first  the  former,  and  then,  in  company 
with  her,  the  latter.  The  Commodore  was  just  grimly 
opining  that  salvage  operations  would  be  simpler  if 
Lurline  and  Eimoo  struck  separately,  when  the  squall 
gave  up  its  rain,  the  wind  and  sea  fell  sufficiently  to 
allow  the  anchors  to  hold,  and  the  worst  was  all  over  in 
a  minute. 

The  squall  had  blown  itself  out  not  a  moment  too 
soon,  for  when  the  anchors  finally  stopped  dragging  one 
could  have  stood  in  the  cockpit  and  skimmed  a  biscuit 
over  the  port  quarter  to  the  veranda  of  the  Consulate, 
while  flung  to  starboard  at  a  similar  angle  it  would  have 
sailed  to  the  deck  of  the  Eimoo.  For  the  present  we 
were  safe  until  another  squall  blew  up,  in  which  event, 
especially  if  it  came  from  anywhere  to  the  east  of  north, 
the  twenty-five  fathoms  of  chain  out  to  each  of  the 
anchors  would  be  enough  to  allow  us  to  swing  around 
onto  the  sea-wall.  Plainly  it  was  imperative  that  the 
yacht  be  worked  into  a  safer  position  without  delay. 

The  sky  was  darkening  again  to  the  north  as  the  Com- 
modore sent  me  ashore  with  orders  not  to  return  without 
the  crew,  or  a  working  equivalent.  The  town  was  in  an 


202     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

uproar,  and  the  impracticability  of  rounding  up  a 
"working  equivalent"  of  the  crew  was  at  once  apparent. 
Two  schooners  and  a  sloop  were  loose  and  pounding  to 
pieces  upon  the  wall,  and  these  had  first  claim  to  volun- 
teer or  "pressed"  aid.  The  gendarmerie,  assisted  by 
soldiers  from  the  barracks,  were  going  about  the  streets 
and  into  the  clubs  and  hotels  requisitioning  relief  forces, 
and  I  was  at  my  wit's  end  for  half  an  hour  dodging  the 
minions  of  the  law  and  avoiding  service  with  one  of  these 
press  gangs. 

At  last  the  crew  was  run  to  cover  at  the  end  of  a  fra- 
grant tunnel  of  blossoming  burao  and  flamboyant,  where 
the  wail  of  concertinas  and  the  throb  of  hard-hit  drum 
logs  told  me  that  a  hula  was  in  progress,  even  before  I 
had  pushed  aside  a  cluster  of  hibiscus  and  peered  in  at  a 
window.  Bill,  the  light-footed  Dane  of  the  port  watch, 
the  axis  of  a  vortex  of  capering  vdhines,  was  leaping  in 
the  maddest  of  hornpipes  to  the  music  of  an  accordion, 
with  bugle  obligato  by  Perkins,  who  had  mastered  that 
instrument  while  in  the  navy.  Big,  blond  Gus,  sur- 
rounded by  another  nimbus  of  tropic  loveliness,  was 
draining  a  newly-cracked  coconut  as  he  would  have 
tossed  off  a  seidel  of  lager,  and  Victor,  the  mate,  a  white 
tiare  blossom  behind  each  ear,  was  shifting  a  cat's  cradle 
from  his  rack  of  stubby,  red  fingers  to  a  frame  of  slender 
brown  ones.  It  was  a  shame  to  put  an  end  to  their  inno- 
cent fun,  but  the  north  was  blackening  again,  and — 
well,  a  sailor  must  learn  to  take  his  pleasure  as  a  patron 
of  a  railway  lunch  counter  does  his  food,  in  hasty  gulps. 
Besides,  there  would  probably  be  other  evenings  ashore, 
and  the  way  of  a  stranger  in  Tahiti  to  a  session  of  song 
and  dance  is  the  turning  to  the  first  open  door. 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  203 

How  thoroughly  engrossing  these  little  parties  are 
may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  the  crew  came  along 
only  under  protest,  swearing,  jointly  and  severally,  that 
they  had  heard  nothing  whatever  of  a  storm  which,  as 
was  afterwards  estimated,  did  a  hundred  thousand 
francs'  damage  on  the  water  front  of  Papeete  and  de- 
stroyed the  season's  crop  of  bananas  and  plantains! 

There  was  a  sinister  tower  of  cloud  piled  up  beyond 
the  reef  by  the  time  I  had  brought  my  reluctant  charges 
back  aboard  the  yacht,  but  its  east  side  was  showing 
blacker  than  its  west,  and  before  long  we  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  it  bear  off  in  the  former  direction  and 
disappear,  roaring  mightily,  behind  Point  Venus.  The 
rest  of  the  night  we  were  left  in  peace  to  haul  off  out  of 
danger. 

For  the  last  two  or  three  hundred  yards  the  yacht 
had  backed  in  a  course  which  lacked  but  a  few  degrees 
of  being  parallel  to  the  sea-wall,  so  that  the  anchors  were 
but  little  further  from  the  shore  than  the  schooner  her- 
self. "Hauling  off,"  therefore,  was  a  tedious  and  not 
entirely  simple  proceeding.  We  first  hove  short  on  the 
starboard  anchor,  broke  it  out  and  brought  it  just  awash. 
Several  lashings  were  then  passed  through  its  ring  and 
round  and  round  the  port  life-boat,  just  aft  of  the  beam, 
after  which  a  line  from  the  yacht  was  made  fast  to  the 
anchor  and  the  shackle  knocked  off.  This  left  it  sus- 
pended in  the  water  in  a  manner  best  calculated  to  trim 
the  boat  and  not  hamper  the  rowers. 

While  the  boat  pulled  offshore  and  dropped  the  star- 
board anchor  the  port  was  broken  out  and  catted.  Then 
the  line  from  the  former  was  put  on  the  winch  and  the 
yacht  hauled  offshore  as  far  as  possible.  Here  the  port 


204     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

anchor  was  let  go,  following  which  the  starboard  was 
hove  up,  re-shackled  and  dropped  again.  The  next 
morning,  taking  advantage  of  a  favourable  slant  of  wind,* 
we  dropped  back  to  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  sea- 
wall and  ran  mooring  lines  to  a  couple  of  cannon  which 
projected  from  the  coral,  a  berth  which  proved  both  safe 
and  convenient. 

Friday,  the  13th  of  May,  was  set  for  our  day  of  de- 
parture for  Samoa,  but  the  unlucky  coincidence  of  the 
day  of  the  week  and  the  month  evoked  such  a  storm  of 
protest  from  the  sailors  that  the  Commodore  postponed 
sailing  for  another  twenty-fours  and  thereby  lost  a  fair 
wind  out  of  the  harbour.  On  the  morning  of  the  14th 
a  fitful  N.W.  wind  blowing  directly  down  the  passage 
made  it  impossible  to  get  under  weigh  without  running 
a  strong  chance  of  piling  the  yacht  up  on  the  beach. 
After  a  bootless  wait  of  a  couple  of  hours  for  a  shift  of 
wind,  a  line  was  finally  carried  to  the  mail-boat's  buoy, 
out  to  which  the  yacht  was  laboriously  hauled  by  wind- 
ing in  on  the  winches.  Letting  go  here  at  noon,  we 
sailed  down  the  bay  with  a  beam  wind,  dipping  in  turn 
to  the  flags  of  the  American  and  British  Consulates  and 
the  gunboat  Zelee. 

As  we  hauled  up  to  thread  the  entrance  the  wind  was 
brought  dead  ahead,  and  for  the  next  fifteen  minutes  the 
yacht  was  put  about  so  often  in  the  scant  working  room 
of  the  narrow  passage  that  the  sails  were  hardly  filled 
on  one  tack  before,  with  shoaling  water  and  an  imminent 
surf,  it  was  necessary  to  go  off  on  the  other.  The  trad- 
ing schooners  make  it  a  rule  never  to  attempt  the  pas- 
sage with  a  head  wind,  but  Lurline's  superiority  in 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  205 

pointing  up,  as  well  as  the  greater  ease  with  which  she 
handled,  made  comparatively  simple  a  performance  that 
for  the  others  would  have  been  really  hazardous.  At 
12.30  P.  M.  we  were  clear  of  the  harbour,  and  at  two 
o'clock  took  departure,  Point  Venus  Light  bearing  S.E. 
by  S.,  distant  eight  miles. 

Close-hauled  to  a  baffling  N.W.  wind,  a  course  of 
due  N.  was  sailed  until  ten  o'clock,  when  the  yacht  was 
put  about  to  a  westerly  course  for  the  rest  of  the  night, 
her  speed  averaging  less  than  six  miles  an  hour.  Tahiti 
was  still  visible  under  a  dense  cloud  rack  at  daybreak, 
while  the  northern  side  of  Moorea  presented  a  crazy 
skyline  of  sharp  pinnacles.  Toward  noon  Neahau  was 
sighted,  Raiatea  almost  immediately  appearing  beyond. 
At  sunset  all  the  leeward  islands  were  in  sight,  Tahaa 
and  Bora  Bora  showing  up  beyond  Raiatea.  Between 
the  two  former  a  sharp  sail-like  rock  appeared,  the  tips 
of  the  pinnacles  of  Moorea  were  still  visible  to  the  south, 
while  above  and  beyond  them  a  heavy  cloudbank  be- 
trayed the  position  of  the  veiled  Orohena. 

The  north  line  of  Bora  Bora  showed  forward  of  the 
starboard  beam  at  daylight  of  the  16th,  our  course  then 
being  due  west.  At  eight  o'clock  Tubai  raised  a  fogged 
outline  to  the  south,  and  just  across  its  leeward  end  the 
hazy  form  of  Marua,  the  most  westerly  of  the  Societies, 
was  dimly  visible.  Marua  and  the  skyline  of  the  great 
cliff  of  Bora  Bora  held  places  on  the  horizon  till  sunset, 
and  with  darkness  we  saw  the  last  of  the  French  islands. 

The  wind,  which  had  been  light  for  the  last  two  days, 
had  fallen  away  entirely  by  the  morning  of  the  17th,  the 
calm  for  the  next  eighteen  hours  being  so  complete  that 
the  yacht  had  not  enough  way  to  straighten  out  the  log- 


206     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

line.  From  midnight  of  the  16th  to  that  of  the  17th  but 
twenty-six  miles  were  covered,  most  of  the  distance  be- 
ing made  in  one  watch.  By  morning  of  the  18th,  how- 
ever, the  renegade  Trade-wind  again  began  asserting 
itself,  to  stand  faithfully  by  nearly  all  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  the  Samoas. 

The  coming  of  the  Trade-wind  was  coincident  with 
another  happening  which  served  graphically  to  illus- 
trate the  dangers  that  little-navigated  seas  hold  for  the 
most  careful  skippers.  From  the  observations  of  the 
17th  it  appeared  that  Bellinghausen  Island,  a  low  unin- 
habited reef  of  considerable  extent,  lay  directly  upon 
our  course  to  Tutuila,  and  at  a  distance  which  made  it 
probable  that  we  would  come  up  to  it  toward  the  end  of 
the  night.  Findlay's  "Directory"  gave  warning  of  a 
southerly  setting  current  of  a  mile  an  hour,  allowing  for 
which  our  course  was  so  altered  as  to  give  the  dangerous 
reef  an  amply  wide  berth.  That  course,  we  figured, 
would  carry  us  from  ten  to  twenty  miles  north  of  the 
island  in  spite  of  the  current,  but  at  midnight,  to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure,  it  was  decided  to  edge  still 
farther  to  the  north,  and  the  course  was  altered  to  N.W. 
by  W.  This  we  were  to  hold  until  daybreak  and  then, 
the  danger  being  past,  head  off  due  west  for  Tutuila 
again.  Of  course  we  would  pass  out  of  sight  and  sound 
of  the  reef,  we  thought;  but  that  was  the  safest  way, 
and  there  wouldn't  be  much  to  see  anyhow. 

Just  before  daybreak,  as  the  yacht,  driven  by  the  new- 
found Trade-wind,  was  settling  contentedly  down  to  an 
easy  eight  knots,  the  excited  hail  of  "Breakers  on  the  lee 
bow!"  brought  every  one  rushing  on  deck,  and  presently, 
out  of  the  dissolving  mist  ahead,  we  saw  long  lines  of 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  207 

surf  tumbling  over  a  submerged  reef,  and  beyond  low 
drifts  of  sand  scantily  covered  with  scrubby  coconuts 
and  pandanus.  There  was  no  need  of  altering  our 
course.  Still  heading  in  a  direction  which  we  had 
figured  would  carry  us  twenty  miles  to  the  north  of 
Bellinghausen  Island,  we  slipped  quietly  by,  a  mile  off 
its  sinister  southern  line,  before  hauling  up  again  for 
Tutuila.  Every  point  we  had  altered  our  course  had 
only  brought  us  nearer  to  the  danger  we  had  sought  to 
avoid,  and  the  chances  are,  if  we  had  made  assurance  a 
bit  surer,  that,  with  the  added  speed  of  the  incidental 
slant  of  wind,  the  yacht  would  have  sailed  into  the 
breakers  before  daylight. 

There  was  nothing  wrong  with  our  reckoning  on  this 
occasion  except  the  allowance  made  for  the  current,  and 
this  was  figured  according  to  the  only  authority  avail- 
able. Probably  not  an  average  of  one  ship  a  year  makes 
the  voyage  from  the  Societies  to  the  Samoas,  and  only 
the  occasional  government  vessel  keeps  a  record  that  is 
likely  to  be  reflected  on  the  charts.  The  southerly  set 
of  the  current  past  the  western  end  of  the  Societies  is, 
at  least  in  the  Fall  months,  certainly  much  greater  than 
Findlay  estimates  it. 

With  mainsail  and  foresail  wing-and-wing  and  both 
gaff  toptails  set,  good  speed  was  made  all  day  of  the 
18th.  Morning  of  the  19th  found  the  wind  dead  astern, 
however,  and  this,  in  combination  with  an  exasperating 
swell  which  set  in  from  the  south  for  no  apparent  reason 
whatever  and  made  it  impossible  to  run  wing-and-wing, 
compelled  us  to  steer  a  point  wide  of  our  course  of  due 
west.  It  was  our  original  intention  to  rig  up  a  square 
foresail  for  this  run  before  the  Trade  from  Tahiti  to 


208     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Samoa,  but  the  baffling  headwinds  of  the  first  few  days 
made  the  use  of  such  a  sail  impossible,  and  the  advan- 
tage was  deemed  hardly  worth  the  trouble  for  the  few 
days  that  remained. 

We  learned  later  that  the  heavy  seas  from  the  south 
were  the  result  of  a  tremendous  gale  which  swept  the 
Pacific  beyond  the  Tropic  of  Capricorn  a  few  days  pre- 
viously. Beam  seas  and  a  strong  following  wind  make 
about  the  most  uncomfortable  combination  a  fore-and- 
after  can  encounter,  and  the  next  four  days  were  lively 
ones  aboard  Lurline.  A  sea  would  come  rolling  up  out 
of  the  south  in  a  great  sky-scraping  ridge  of  pea  green 
and  heel  the  yacht  to  starboard  until  the  mainboom 
dipped  into  the  water  and  buckled  under  the  strain  like 
a  rod  before  the  first  rush  of  a  ten-pound  salmon. 
Then  it  would  pass  on,  leaving  the  yacht  to  tumble  off 
its  back  and  roll  her  port  rail  under  just  in  time  to 
dip  a  deckful  out  of  the  next  wave.  Much  of  the  time 
the  foresail  was  lowered  with  the  boom  hauled  amidships, 
and  the  mainsail,  double-reefed,  carried  to  starboard. 
The  jib  and  forestay-sail  were  usually  set  but  rendered 
little  service,  most  of  such  wind  as  they  caught  being 
shaken  out  in  the  roll. 

Under  these  circumstances  very  creditable  speed  was 
made.  The  run  to  noon  of  the  19th  was  195  miles,  and 
for  the  three  following  days  193,  174  and  175  miles,  re- 
spectively. The  wear  and  tear  on  sails  and  sheets  and 
halyards  was  very  great,  however.  On  the  21st  the  fore 
peak  halyard  chafed  through  at  noon,  and  at  ten  p.  M. 
of  the  same  day  the  forestay-sail  sheet  came  to  similar 
grief.  Nothing  else  carried  away  before  we  reached 
port,  but  the  steady  banging  of  these  four  days  made  a 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  209 

general  overhauling  of  the  rigging  necessary  before  we 
were  in  shape  to  put  to  sea  again  from  Pago  Pago. 

The  several  small  islands  which  constitute  the  Manua 
division  of  the  Samoan  group  were  sighted  to  the  N.E. 
at  daybreak  of  the  23rd.  The  peaks  of  Tutuila,  distant 
forty  miles,  came  above  the  horizon  at  four  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  same  day,  but  as  there  was  no  hope  of  reach- 
ing Pago  Pago  before  dark  in  the  light  airs  then  pre- 
vailing, canvas  was  shortened  to  mainsail  and  forestay- 
sail  and  the  night  was  spent  in  standing  off  and  on. 
Morning  of  the  24th  found  us  twenty  miles  off  shore, 
and  for  several  hours  the  yacht  scarcely  made  steerage- 
way  in  an  almost  dead  calm.  Toward  noon  a  light 
easterly  breeze  sprang  up,  and  taking  advantage  of 
every  puff  we  managed  to  worry  in  through  the  cliff- 
walled  entrance  of  the  remarkable  bay  of  Pago  Pago 
by  three  o'clock. 

The  port  doctor  met  us  as  we  came  abreast  of  the 
quarantine  station  and  piloted  the  yacht  up  the  bay  to 
an  anchorage,  but  through  a  faulty  diagnosis  of  the  lay 
of  the  bottom,  combined  with  a  faulty  prescription  when 
his  original  mistake  was  discovered,  missed  only  by  the 
narrowest  of  margins  leaving  his  patient  a  subject  for 
the  marine  hospital.  A  few  of  the  details  may  be  worth 
recording  in  their  bearing  on  the  much-mooted  question 
of  the  advisability  of  placing  surgeons  in  command  of 
the  government  hospital  ships. 

The  doctor  boarded  the  yacht  as  she  came  gliding 
up  before  the  gentle  evening  breeze,  and  after  satisfying 
himself  that  she  bore  no  evidences  of  plague  or  yellow 
fever  in  cabin  or  forecastle,  kindly  volunteered,  in  the 
absence  of  a  harbour  master  (which  functionary  the  port 


210    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

did  not  boast) ,  to  show  us  the  way  to  the  safest  and  most 
convenient  anchorage  available  for  a  visiting  craft.  We 
accepted  his  well-meant  offer  without  misgivings,  and 
the  quarantine  boat,  its  gaily-turbaned  fita-fitas  leaning 
lazily  on  their  oars,  was  soon  trailing  astern,  while  the 
doctor,  clearing  his  throat,  began  "piloting." 

"Straight  down  the  middle,"  was  his  first  order;  and 
"Straight  down  middl',  Sir,"  muttered  Perkins  at  the 
wheel,  holding  the  yacht  to  her  even  course  up  the  bay 
in  apparently  correct  interpretation  of  the  direction  as 
meaning  something  akin  to  the  regulation  "Steady  as 
she  goes." 

"Now  in  past  the  Wheeling  "  was  the  next  command; 
and  when  we  had  swept  smartly  in  past  the  U.  S.  S. 
Wheeling,  "Now  edge  in  a  bit  toward  the  shore,"  car- 
ried the  yacht  under  the  shadow  of  the  towering  south- 
western harbour  walls. 

At  this  juncture  the  doctor  went  forward  to  recon- 
noiter,  and  while  we  still  slipped  at  no  mean  speed 
through  the  water — quite  without  apprehension  because 
of  the  considerable  distance  still  intervening  between 
the  yacht  and  the  apparently  steep-to-shore — the  ex- 
cited order  came  booming  back  to  "Keep  her  off!  Keep 
her  off!" 

Here  was  a  properly  phrased  nautical  order  at  last, 
and  Perkins  grinned  appreciatively  as  he  spun  the  wheel 
up,  mechanically  muttering  "Keep  'er  off,  Sir."  An 
instant  later  the  Commodore,  dashing  wildly  aft,  cleared 
the  cockpit  rail  at  a  bound,  and,  knocking  the  surprised 
Perkins  backward  with  his  shoulder,  began  climbing  up 
the  spokes  of  the  wheel  like  a  monkey  as  he  threw  it 
hard  down.  The  yacht  wavered  for  an  instant,  as 


PAPEETE  TO  PAGO  PAGO  211 

though  confused  by  the  unwonted  treatment,  and  then, 
with  a  slatting  of  canvas  and  banging  of  blocks,  came 
up  into  the  wind  and  paid  off  on  the  other  tack  just 
in  time  to  avoid  the  thrust  of  a  jutting  point  of  coral. 
We  felt  fully  justified  in  setting  aside  our  volunteer 
pilot  and  finding  our  own  anchorage  after  that. 

Regarding  which  it  might  be  in  order  to  explain  that 
the  shores  of  Pago  Pago  Bay,  though  the  volcanic  walls 
themselves  shelve  off  abruptly  to  a  great  depth,  are 
fringed  with  a  hundred-yard-wide  table  of  coral  which 
rises  to  within  three  or  four  feet  of  its  surface  all  the 
way  around.  The  outer  edge  of  the  latter  drops  off 
sheer  to  deep  water,  and  anywhere  beyond  is  good  an? 
chorage.  The  doctor,  of  course,  knew  of  this  coral  bank 
but  had  miscalculated  its  position.  When  its  jagged 
brown  rim  suddenly  leered  up  at  him  through  the  green 
water,  quite  correctly  anticipating  that  if  the  yacht 
drove  in  upon  it  she  might  do  herself  harm,  he  very  nat- 
urally shouted  to  "Keep  her  off!"  which  order  the  man 
at  the  wheel,  quite  as  naturally,  interpreted  to  mean 
"Keep  her  off  the  wind."  This  he  did,  with  the  result 
that  he  was  heading  her  more  directly  than  ever  onto 
the  reef,  when  the  Commodore,  catching  the  lay  of 
things  and  realizing  the  danger  of  complicating  an  al- 
ready hopelessly  mixed  situation  by  giving  orders, 
sprang  to  the  wheel  himself,  threw  the  yacht  up  into  the 
wind  and  avoided  by  a  scant  dozen  feet  the  jagged  edge 
of  the  coral  bank. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN   PAGO   PAGO   BAY 

IN  the  settlement  of  the  Samo'an  imbroglio  in  the  late 
nineties  by  the  partition  of  the  group  between  Germany 
and  the  United  States — Great  Britain,  the  third  party 
to  the  controversy  having  been  granted  compensatory 
rights  in  the  Tongas  and  Solomons — America,  for  all 
practical  purposes,  had  much  the  best  of  the  bargain. 
Germany  entered  into  actual  possession  of  the  two  larg- 
est islands  of  the  group,  Upolou  and  Savaii,  leaving  the 
United  States  to  do  the  same  with  Tutuila  and  the 
Manuas.  The  American  government,  however,  con- 
tented itself  with  a  naval  station  at  Pago  Pago,  Tutuila, 
and  the  exercise  of  a  mild  protectorate  over  the  natives 
of  the  rest  of  that  island.  Germany's  rich  and  beauti- 
ful islands,  after  proving  little  more  than  a  costly  colon- 
ial experiment,  passed  out  of  her  hands  forever  at  the 
end  of  the  late  war.  The  establishment  of  a  naval  sta- 
tion at  Pago  Pago  has  placed  the  United  States,  strateg- 
ically, in  the  strongest  position  in  western  Polynesia. 

The  bay  of  Pago  Pago  is  unquestionably  the  finest  har- 
bour in  the  whole  of  the  Pacific.  In  form  it  is  not  un- 
like a  fat  letter  "L,"  of  which  the  shorter  line  is  the  en- 
trance and  the  longer,  inclining  slightly  inward,  the  bay 
proper.  Ages  ago  what  is  now  the  harbour  was  un- 
doubtedly a  huge  crater  occupying  the  centre  of  the 
island  of  Tutuila.  One  day  the  water  must  have  broken 

through  into  the  lava,  causing  an  explosion  which,  in 

212 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  213 

addition  to  settling  the  island  a  thousand  feet  or  so, 
blew  out  a  slice  of  the  crater's  rim  and  dropped  it  out  of 
sight  somewhere  in  the  deep  sea.  The  place  where  the 
slice  blew  out  is  the  present  entrance  to  the  harbour, 
and  it  is  wide  and  deep  enough  to  hold  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  without  seriously  interfering  with  naviga- 
tion. 

So  completely  landlocked  is  the  harbour,  and  so 
smooth  are  its  waters  in  all  weathers,  that  from  any- 
where in  the  inner  bay — except  for  the  tropical  vegeta- 
tion which  clothes  the  mountain  sides — it  might  pass  for 
a  Swiss  lake.  The  high  walls  of  the  ancient  crater  cut 
off  the  rays  of  the  morning  and  evening  sun,  and  the 
velvety  green  of  the  wonderful  tropic  tapestry  which 
covers  them,  reflecting  scarcely  any  light  and  heat, 
makes  the  harbour  several  degrees  cooler  than  any  other 
Pacific  island  of  similar  latitude,  either  north  or  south  of 
the  equator.  At  noon  of  the  warmest  day  of  the  month 
which  the  Lurline  remained  in  the  harbour  the  tempera- 
ture was  79°,  Fahrenheit.  The  coolest  day  was  74°  at 
noon  and  72°  at  midnight,  while  the  water  held  around 
an  even  80°  all  of  the  time. 

The  naval  reservation,  with  its  dock,  coal  pile,  ice 
plant  and  warehouses,  occupies  the  only  extensive  piece 
of  level  land  on  the  bay.  Above,  on  a  jutting  promon- 
tory which  commands  the  entrance  and  every  foot  of  the 
harbour  line,  is  the  residence  of  the  commander  of  the 
station  and  the  governor  of  the  island,  occupied  at  the 
time  of  our  visit  by  Captain  E.  B.  Underwood,  U.S.N. 
At  the  end  of  the  bay,  half  submerged  in  a  forest  of 
coconuts,  bread-fruit,  bananas  and  mangoes,  is  the  Sa- 
moan  village  of  Pago  Pago,  the  most  important  native 


214    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

settlement  on  the  island.  Several  other  small  villages 
form  breaks  in  the  solid  colour  of  the  verdant  rondure 
with  occasional  isolated  circular  roofs  of  brown  thatch 
dotting  the  grey  ribbon  of  the  trail  which  binds  them 
together. 

Ever  a  splendid  physical  specimen  and  ever  pos- 
sessed of  the  kindliest  and  happiest  of  dispositions,  the 
Samoan  has  undergone  less  change  in  his  contact  with 
the  white  man  than  any  other  native  of  the  South  Pa- 
cific. This  is  particularly  true  of  those  of  Tutuila,  for 
the  mailed  fist  of  the  German  War  Lord  had  rested 
heavily  on  Upolou  and  Savaii  for  over  a  decade  at  the 
time  of  our  visit,  and  one  detected  traces  of  sullenness 
and  discontent  among  their  peoples  which  he  would 
search  for  in  vain  among  the  care-free  natives  of  the 
American  island.  In  many  ways,  in  fact,  Tutuila  is  de- 
serving of  being  called  a  model  tropical  colony.  The 
government,  except  for  a  gently  exercised  judicial  sup- 
ervision, is  practically  autonomous,  and  the  natives,  left 
to  the  enjoyment  of  the  customs  and  institutions  of  their 
fathers,  have  retained  a  self-respect,  dignity  and  amiabil- 
ity without  parallel  in  any  of  the  other  island  groups  of 
Polynesia.  The  American  protectorate  over  Tutuila  is 
proving  a  happy  medium  between  the  paternalism  of  the 
British  and  the  repressiveness  of  the  Germans  and 
French,  the  result  being  an  island  where  intercourse 
with  the  natives  is  unmixedly  edifying  and  pleasant. 

The  Samoan  islands  are  rightly  called  the  Navigator 
Group,  for  both  in  their  achievements  of  the  past  along 
that  line,  as  well  as  in  the  seamanship  they  display  to- 
day, their  natives  are  in  a  class  by  themselves.  The 
superiority  of  line  of  a  Samoan  "out-rigger"  canoe  over 


• 


CHIEF  TUFELI  IN  THE  UNIFORM  OF  A  SERGEANT  OF  Fita-fitas' 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  215 

that  of  those  of  any  other  South  Pacific  group  is  appar- 
ent to  the  veriest  novice,  as  is  also  the  ability  with  which 
it  is  handled.  The  following  description  of  a  Samoan 
"out-rigger,"  which  was  written  by  an  expert,  will  con- 
vey to  the  initiated  an  idea  of  the  technical  construction 
of  this  remarkable  little  craft. 

"Although  the  Samoan  canoe  is  a  'dugout,'  it  is  far 
from  being  the  clumsy  affair  that  the  name  indicates. 
Though  the  hull  is  indeed  dug  out  of  a  single  log,  it  is 
none  the  less  moulded  along  lines  of  grace  as  well  as 
utility.  The  hull  is  well  sheered  and  tapered  toward 
the  slightly  elevated  prow,  perpendicular  and  blade- 
like  in  its  thinness.  It  is  moulded  with  reference  to 
fluid  resistance  and  cut  so  as  to  minimize  the  drag  of 
the  water,  and  yet  gain  every  advantage  from  a  fol- 
lowing sea.  They  do  not  spread  or  widen  the  hull 
amidships,  even  in  the  very  small  canoes,  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  the  lines  of  the  out-rigger  (left)  side  at 
all  flattened ;  the  hulls  are  all  symmetrical  with  respect  to 
the  longitudinal  axis." 

One  used  to  handling  a  Peterboro  will  find  a  Samoan 
canoe  very  cranky  at  first,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the 
outrigger  causes  a  drag  which  must  be  overcome  by 
dipping  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other.  The 
size  of  the  canoe  is  limited  only  by  the  size  of  the  trunk 
from  which  it  is  hewn.  Occasionally  one  is  seen  carry- 
ing seven  or  eight  adults,  but  the  capacity  of  the  ordi- 
nary canoe  is  not  over  two  or  three. 

In  the  old  days  the  Samoans,  like  all  the  other  South 
Sea  islanders,  made  their  long  voyages  in  big  double 
canoes  or  catamarans  driven  by  huge  sails  of  matting. 
This  type,  though  still  common  in  Fiji,  has  practically 


216    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

disappeared  from  Samoa,  its  place  being  taken  by  the 
malaga,  a  modified  whaleboat.  This  stoutly-built  dou- 
ble-ender  is  generally  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  sea- 
worthy type  of  open  boat  known,  and  instances  are  on 
record  of  its  having  ridden  out  storms  in  which  sailing 
vessels,  and  even  steamers,  came  to  grief.  The  Samoan 
started  with  the  orthodox  whaleboat  and  kept  building 
larger  and  larger  until  the  limit  of  practical  construc- 
tion was  reached.  In  fact,  construction  went  somewhat 
beyond  the  limit  of  practicability,  for  a  huge  malaga 
built  ten  years  ago  in  Apia — a  veritable  Roman  galley 
of  an  affair,  with  seats  for  a  hundred  rowers — broke  its 
back  on  its  trial  trip.  Nothing  of  so  colossal  propor- 
tions has  been  tried  since,  though  fifty-oar  malagas  are 
occasionally  seen  conveying  all  of  the  able-bodied  males 
of  a  village  off  to  a  cricket  match. 

The  malaga  most  in  use  is  but  little  larger  than  the 
regulation  whaleboat.  It  is  stepped  for  two  masts,  and, 
with  a  big  leg-o'-mutton  sail  hoisted  on  each,  makes 
good  speed  if  the  wind  is  anywhere  abaft  the  beam. 
Within  eight  points  of  the  wind,  if  any  sea  is  running, 
too  much  water  comes  aboard  to  make  sailing  prac- 
ticable. At  such  times  the  canvas  is  taken  in  and  the 
oars  resorted  to  until  a  shift  of  wind  or  a  change  of 
course  makes  sailing  again  possible. 

The  Samoan  invariably  sings  when  he  rows,  and 
stopping  his  mouth  would  interfere  quite  as  much  with 
the  progress  of  the  boat  as  binding  his  arms.  They 
pull  one  man  to  the  oar  and  take  their  stroke  from  the 
rhythm  of  the  song  of  the  leader.  Ask  your  Samoan 
boatman  how  far  the  next  point  is,  or  how  long  it  will 
take  to  reach  it,  and  he  will  tell  you  "three  songs,"  or 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  217 

four  or  five  songs,  as  he  happens  to  judge  it.  On  a  hot 
day  a  crew  will  stop  oftener  to  rest  its  throats  than  its 
backs.  Entering  a  tortuous,  surf -beset  passage  through 
a  reef,  such  as  leads  into  all  the  bays  of  Tutuila  except 
Pago  Pago,  a  man  takes  his  station  on  the  prow  of  the 
malaga  and,  signalling  with  his  hands,  now  on  one  side 
and  now  on  the  other,  keeps  the  helmsman  advised  of 
the  lay  of  the  channel. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Underwood  came  off  to  the  yacht 
the  afternoon  following  our  arrival  at  Pago  Pago,  their 
call  proving  most  opportune  in  chancing  to  coincide  with 
that  of  Seuka,  the  taupo  of  the  village.  The  latter,  in 
company  with  her  hand-maidens,  a  dozen  or  more  in  all, 
bearing  presents  of  tapa  and  fruit,  came  off  in  the  offi- 
cial malaga,  and  through  neglecting  to  bring  an  inter- 
preter with  her  narrowly  missed  being  taken  for  a  curio 
vendor  and  being  put  off  until  another  day.  The  Un- 
derwoods came  to  the  rescue,  however,  and  prolonged 
their  call  until  everybody  was  acquainted. 

The  taupo  or  "village  maiden"  is  a  functionary  as  in- 
dispensable to  a  Samoan  village  as  a  chief,  or  even  a  mis- 
sionary. She  is,  in  fact,  usually  the  daughter  of  the 
chief;  or,  if  that  dignitary  has  no  girl  in  his  family,  the 
most  attractive  maiden  chosen  from  among  his  near  re- 
lations. Her  duties  are  the  traditional  ones  of  making 
the  official  kava,  leading  the  official  dances  called  siva- 
sivas,  and  looking  after  the  entertainment  and  personal 
comfort  of  distinguished  visitors.  Formerly  she  acted 
as  a  sort  of  vivandiere  in  time  of  tribal  wars,  encourag- 
ing her  chief's  forces  by  singing  in  the  forefront  of  the 
battle.  This  latter,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  is  not  an 


218     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ancient  custom  by  any  means.  The  still  young  and 
beautiful  wife  of  Judge  E.  W.  Gurr  of  Pago  Pago,  who 
was  taupo  of  Apia  at  the  time  of  the  now  historic  war 
between  Maletoa  and  Mataafa  for  supremacy  in  Samoa, 
went  through  that  sanguinary  struggle  at  the  side  of 
her  adopted  father,  the  distinguished  chief,  Seumana- 
Tafa,  and  her  delightful  accounts  of  her  experiences  in 
those  stirring  days  we  were  privileged  to  enjoy  on  a 
number  of  occasions  during  our  visit. 

The  taupo  lives  in  a  house  of  her  own,  attended  by 
eight  or  ten  handmaidens  and  a  stern — a  very  stern — 
duenna.  The  handmaidens  are  the  most  attractive  un- 
married girls  in  the  village  after  the  taupo,  and  are 
chosen  for  their  faces  and  figures  and  their  ability  to 
dance.  Beyond  following  the  taupo  in  the  mazes  of  the 
siva-siva  and  accompanying  her  on  official  calls,  they 
have  no  duties  to  speak  of,  but  as  each  one  lives  in  hope 
of  being  chosen  as  a  successor  when  their  leader  passes 
from  them  by  marriage  or  for  any  other  cause,  their  life 
is  largely  a  schooling  toward  that  felicitous  end.  The 
kava  and  siva-siva  ceremonies  are  so  numerous  and  intri- 
cate that  nothing  short  of  many  years  of  instruction  and 
practice  can  fit  a  girl  properly  to  perform  them,  and  in 
this  respect  the  training  of  a  taupo  is  not  unlike  that  of 
the  court  geishas  of  Japan  or  certain  of  the  temple 
nautch  girls  of  India. 

The  duenna  is  the  guardian  of  the  taupo3 s  morals. 
To  her  is  delegated  the  important  duty  of  seeing  that 
the  feet  of  that  often  temperamental  and  wilful  young 
personage  do  not  stray  from  the  path  of  rectitude.  Es- 
cort, watcher,  protector,  she  is  supposed  never  to  let 
her  charge  stray  beyond  the  sweep  of  her  eye  by  day  nor 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  219 

the  reach  of  her  arm  at  night.  In  the  old  days,  in  the 
event  of  a  contretemps,  the  life  of  the  duenna  as  well  as 
that  of  the  taupo  was  forfeit,  whether  she  was  guilty  of 
"contributory  negligence"  or  not.  Today,  although  vir- 
ginity is  still  the  sine  qua  non  of  a  taupo,  the  punishment 
for  obliquities  is  somewhat  less  drastic,  both  for  guard 
and  guarded. 

Seuka  had  come  off  to  the  yacht  to  invite  us  to  a 
talolo  or  official  reception  to  be  given  in  our  honour  the 
following  evening  by  Chief  Mauga  of  Pago  Pago. 
After  the  talolo  she  and  her  girls  would  dance  the  siva- 
siva  for  us,  and  there  would  also  be  some  dancing  by  the 
men.  Of  course  we  accepted  the  invitation  with  alac- 
rity. 

To  this  function  we  went  in  state,  convoyed  by  a  flo- 
tilla of  canoes  sent  down  by  Mauga,  the  occupants  of 
which  enlivened  the  progress  by  singing  swinging  chor- 
uses extemporized  in  our  praise.  The  tide  was  out 
when  we  reached  our  destination  at  the  end  of  the  bay, 
as  a  result  of  which  our  cutter  grounded  upon  the  edge 
of  the  reef.  Instantly  the  members  of  our  escort 
jumped  out  of  their  canoes  and  swarmed  alongside  to 
carry  us  in  across  the  fifty  yards  of  intervening  shal- 
lows to  the  beach.  The  Commodore  and  I  saw  the  Ma- 
ter and  Claribel  borne  unresistingly  off  in  the  arms  of 
two  bronze,  flower-crowned  giants,  and  then,  judging  it 
more  compatible  with  our  dignity,  made  the  fatal  mis- 
take of  electing  to  take  the  journey  "pick-a-back."  Be- 
fore my  "mount"  had  splashed  a  dozen  yards  I  came  to 
a  realization  of  the  fact  that  it  was  going  to  be  out  of 
the  question  to  retain  my  hold  on  his  coco-oiled  shoul- 
ders while  he  traversed  the  whele  distance;  so,  rather 


220     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

than  prolong  the  agony,  I  dropped  off  into  the  water 
and  trudged  ashore  alone.  The  air  was  warm,  my 
ducks  were  soiled  already,  and  most  of  the  guests  would 
be  barefoot  anyway,  I  told  myself  philosophically. 
But  the  Commodore,  who,  as  the  official  head  of  the 
party  was  out  in  his  nattiest  uniform  and  did  not,  as  he 
explained  later,  desire  to  make  his  first  appearance  be- 
fore the  highest  chief  on  the  island  of  Tutuila  looking 
like  a  ship -wrecked  sailor,  would  not  give  up  without 
a  struggle. 

Unfortunately  for  the  Commodore's  hopes,  the  vig- 
orous strangle  hold  with  which  he  endeavoured  to  main- 
tain himself  on  his  precarious  perch  shut  off  the  wind, 
and  with  it  the  song,  of  the  man  who  was  trying  to  carry 
him;  and  because  a  Samoan  cannot  perform  any  kind  of 
labour — and  especially  a  labour  of  love  like  the  lift  in 
question — without  singing,  this  one  came  to  a  quick 
stop.  The  jolt  started  the  Commodore  slipping,  and  I 
was  just  congratulating  myself  on  the  probability  that 
he  was  going  to  appear  at  the  party  more  mussed  up 
than  I  was,  when  there  came  a  quick  rush  from  behind 
and  another  of  the  canoeists  scooped  up  the  suspended 
bundle  of  white  in  his  arms  and,  carrying  it  as  a  mother 
carries  a  babe — even  as  the  Mater  and  Claribel  had 
been  borne  off — splashed  through  to  the  beach. 

"Lelei!  Thank  you!  Good  boy!"  cried  the  relieved 
Commodore  heartily  as  he  found  himself  set  right  side 
up  upon  the  coral  clinkers.  And  again  he  cried 
"Lelei!"  (the  extent  of  his  Samoan  at  that  time)  and 
"Good  Boy!"  when  the  cap  which  he  supposed  had  fal- 
len off  in  the  water  was  set  jauntily  back  upon  his  head 
by  his  dusky  preserver.  Another  "Good  boy!"  greeted 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  221 

the  discovery  of  the  fact  that  his  feet  were  dry,  and  still 
another  boomed  forth  when  the  flickering  light  of  the 
torches  showed  the  white  uniform  to  be  still  immaculate. 
The  last  one  was  emphasized  with  a  ringing  slap  of 
gratitude  bestowed  upon  the  oil-glistening  shoulder 
where  his  head  had  lately  rested.  There  came  a  ripple 
of  low-silvery  laughter,  and  the  Commodore's  preserver 
had  slipped  away  among  the  shadows  of  the  coco  trees. 

The  ruddy  glow  that  suffused  the  sun-tanned  face  of 
the  Commodore  as  I  splashed  out  alongside  him  was  not 
due  entirely  to  the  glare  of  the  torches. 

"Did  you  hear  that?  Did  you  see  that?"  he  gasped 
excitedly,  staring  off  into  the  moon-mottled  shadows. 
"He  was  a  girl!  I've  been  carried  ashore  by  a  girl! 
You  don't  suppose  that — " 

"Don't  worry,"  I  said  gently;  "they  were  too  busy 
thanking  their  own  preservers  to  notice  you." 

Mauga,  the  fine  old  gladiator  who  was  giving  the 
talolo,  met  us  at  the  door  of  his  huge  thatched-roofed 
"palace"  and  led  us  to  the  "seats"  of  honour — stacks  of 
mats  upon  which  we  sat  cross-legged — between  himself 
and  his  handsome  chief  ess,  Faa-oo-pea.  After  a  speech 
of  welcome  by  the  tulafale  or  "talking  chief,"  there  were 
two  or  three  spirited  sword  and  club- juggling  exhibi- 
tions by  a  dozen  or  so  men,  magnificent  physical  speci- 
mens who  twirled  and  tossed  ancient  Samoan  weapons 
as  they  reeled  and  lunged  in  the  sinuous  movements  of 
the  strange  dances.  In  the  interval  of  these  Claribel 
was  led  away  by  one  of  Seuka's  handmaidens  to  have  a 
glimpse  of  the  dressing  of  that  important  young  per- 
sonage for  the  siva-siva  that  was  shortly  to  follow. 
When,  on  her  return,  we  asked  her  what  the  taupo  was 


222     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

going  to  wear,  she  appeared  distinctly  embarrassed  and 
launched  at  once  into  a  detailed  description  of  Seuka's 
marvellous  tuiga  or  headdress,  which  she  had  witnessed 
the  assembling  and  adjustment  of.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
as  became  apparent  shortly,  that  was  about  all  there 
was  to  describe.  For  that  reason,  and  because  it  is  so 
marvellous  an  affair  intrinsically,  I  have  thought  it  worth 
while  to  set  down  what  the  observant  Claribel  has  to 
say  about  it  in  her  journal. 

"The  taupo  s  badge  of  office  is  a  three-feet-high  head- 
dress called  a  tuiga.  It  is  a  composite  affair,  part  wig, 
part  frontlet  of  nautilis  shell  and  part  a  scaffolding  of 
three  flower-decked  sticks.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to 
put  on,  for  it  must  be  assembled  piece  by  piece  each 
time  it  is  wanted.  It  is  producive  of  constant  pain 
while  it  is  worn  and  is  taken  off  with  a  feeling  of  relief, 
yet  the  custom  of  wearing  it  on  official  occasions  is  so 
old  and  rigid  that  the  taupo  would  scarcely  feel  prop- 
erly clad  without  it.  The  foundation  is  a  strip  of  black 
cloth  which  is  wound  around  the  head  at  the  roots  of 
the  hair,  drawing  all  of  the  latter  up  into  a  bunch  at  the 
crown.  Upon  this  one  stubby  lock  is  tied  the  wig  of 
natural  hair,  which  is  set  in  a  frame  of  cloth  or  fibre 
netting.  When  this  is  attached  so  securely  that  there 
is  no  chance  of  its  becoming  dislodged,  the  scaffolding 
of  slender  sticks  and  a  cross  piece  is  tied  in  front  and 
made  fast  to  the  cloth  covering  over  the  forehead.  The 
cross  piece  is  usually  ornamented  with  two  or  three 
round  mirrors  and  some  bright  feathers,  while  a  band 
consisting  of  several  rows  of  the  partition  plates  of  the 
nautilus  shell  is  often  tied  across  the  forehead.  With 
these  decorations  the  taupo  wears  a  neck  pendant  of  a 


FAA-OO-PEA,  CHIEFTAINESS  OF  PAGO  PAGO,  MAKING  Jcava 


SEUKA,  taupo  OF  PAGO  PAGO,  ILLUSTRATING  A  MOVEMENT  IN 

THE 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  223 

curled  boar's  tusk  and  a  wreath  or  two  of  ula,  a  few  of 
the  bright  red  fruits  of  the  pandanus  occasionally  ap- 
pearing among  the  latter." 

Since  Claribel  had  not  seen  fit  to  prepare  us  for  it, 
the  coming  of  Seuka  wearing,  besides  her  tuiga,  only  a 
cincture  of  bright  ti  leaves  on  each  ankle  and  an  almost 
negligible  bit  of  ancestral  tappa  wreathed  in  a  precar- 
ious twist  about  her  waist,  created  something  of  a  stir 
in  a  portion  of  our  party.  Was  it  really  the  same 
Seuka,  she  of  the  downcast  eye  and  the  blushing  cheek 
and  the  long,  trailing  holakau  of  the  previous  afternoon? 
we  asked  ourselves.  There  was  the  same  liquid  eye 
and  the  same  rounded  cheek,  but  now  the  one  was  flash- 
ing and  the  other  flushing  with  the  surging  "dance  pas- 
sion," and  as  for  the  holakau,  the  Commodore  avers  that 
his  falling  out  of  sympathy  with  the  missionary — the  in- 
troducer of  that  atrocious  hider-of-charms — dates  from 
that  moon-lit  evening  by  the  bay  of  Pago  Pago  when 
Seuka  danced  the  siva  to  the  throb  of  the  drum-logs  and 
the  music  of  the  ripple  of  the  wavelets  on  the  beach. 

On  the  Samoan  siva-siva  and  its  concomitant,  the 
kava  ceremony,  I  will  write  in  another  chapter;  of  this 
particular  siva — our  first  one — I  note  here  only  the  high 
lights  of  the  mental  picture  which  the  mention  of  it  al- 
ways conjures  up — the  half -lighted  interior  of  the 
thatch-roofed,  mat-floored  faletele,  with  slices  of  the  blue 
moonlight  diverging  to  mountain  and  grove  and  bay 
through  rifts  in  the  woven  blinds;  the  lap  of  the  waves 
on  the  coral  strand  and  the  lisp  of  the  wind  in  the 
bananas  running  through  the  boom  of  the  tom-toms  and 
the  guttural  chants  of  the  spectators,  and,  in  the  flicker- 
ing light  of  the  candlenut  torches,  those  glistening  limbs 


224     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  mahogany,  rippling,  swaying,  flashing,  in  the  in- 
finitely alluring  movements  of  the  native  dances. 

This  dance  was  one  of  a  dozen  or  more  entertain- 
ments arranged  by  the  hospitable  natives  during  the  time 
the  yacht  remained  in  Pago  Pago  Bay.  One  day  it  was 
a  picnic  and  swim  at  a  mountain  waterfall;  again  a 
canoeing  party,  and  another  time  an  evening  of  Samoan 
singing.  A  ten-day-long  cricket  game  between  the 
teams  of  Pago  Pago  and  Fuaga-sa  furnished  so  much 
excitement  that  I  am  reserving  the  account  of  it  for  a 
special  chapter.  The  chiefs  of  nearly  every  village  on 
the  island  came  and  paid  us  visits  of  ceremony  and 
brought  presents,  some  of  them  journeying  two  days 
and  more  by  land  and  water.  Our  most  distinguished 
visitor  was  Chief — formerly  King — Tuf eli,  of  Manua,  a 
group  of  small  islands  which  is  included  with  Tutuila 
in  the  American  protectorate.  Tuf  eli,  a  man  of  heroic 
stature  and  a  most  pleasing  personality,  came  over  for 
the  express  purpose  of  buying  the  yacht  and  sailing  her 
back  to  Manua.  He  was  not  a  little  disappointed  to 
learn  that  the  Commodore  would  not  find  it  convenient 
to  turn  her  over  to  him  in  exchange  for  his  season's 
copra  output,  but  appeared  considerably  consoled  by 
the  barrel  of  salt  beef  we  gave  him  as  a  compromise. 

Most  pleasant,  too,  were  our  relations  with  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Naval  Station.  Shortly  after  our  arrival  the 
Adams  came  to  relieve  the  Wheeling,  and  the  fortnight 
during  which  the  two  American  warships  were  in  the 
harbour  was  a  continual  round  of  festivities.  The  Res- 
idency kept  open  house,  as  did  also  Judge  E.  W.  Gurr, 
Chief  Secretary  of  Naval  Affairs,  in  his  beautiful  half- 
Samoan,  half -foreign  home  on  the  mountainside. 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  225 

Judge  Gurr,  whose  wife  I  have  mentioned  as  having 
been  at  one  time  the  taupo  of  Apia,  was  for  many  years 
Stevenson's  attorney  and  intimate  friend  in  Upolou,  and 
since  taking  charge  of  native  affairs  in  Tutuila  his  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  Samoan  character  and  his  sym- 
pathetic interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  people  have  made 
his  services  invaluable  to  the  American  government. 
Judge  Gurr  arranged  a  voyage  around  the  island  for 
the  Liurline,  with  visits  to  the  principal  villages  along 
the  coast,  a  fascinating  excursion  which  was  finally 
given  up  on  account  of  uncertain  harbour  facilities. 
This  trip  was  undertaken,  however,  by  Judge  Gurr  and 
myself  in  the  former's  whaleboat,  and,  thanks  to  my 
sponsor's  prestige,  turned  out  most  interestingly. 

In  no  one  particular  does  the  lightness  with  which  the 
Samoan  has  been  touched  by  outside  influence  show 
more  clearly  than  in  his  architecture.  He  builds  and 
lives  in  the  same  style  of  house  today  that  was  used  by 
his  ancestor  of  a  hundred — perhaps  a  thousand — years 
ago.  Unlike  the  Hawaiian,  Tahitian  and  Fijian,  he 
has  not  taken  kindly  to  sawn  timber,  galvanized  iron, 
nails  and  glass,  and  nowhere  is  his  conservatism  in  this 
respect  more  in  evidence  than  in  the  villages  of  Tutuila. 
For  this  reason  a  brief  description  of  the  construction 
and  furnishing  of  a  typical  Pago  Pago  dwelling  may  be 
of  interest,  and  for  this  I  am  indebted  to  Claribel,  who 
spent  a  whole  afternoon,  with  pencil  and  notebook,  jot- 
ting down  the  details  at  first  hand. 

"Although  not  a  nail  or  dressed  board  is  used  in  the 
Samoan  house,  the  finished  structure  is  exceedingly 
strong  and  especially  attractive  to  look  at.  The  up- 
rights that  support  the  roofs  are  the  peeled  trunks  of 


226     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

young  breadfruit  trees.  They  are  about  six  inches  in 
diameter,  and  are  set  something  like  a  yard  apart  around 
a  raised  oval  floor-space  that  is  paved  with  small  smooth 
stones  from  the  beach.  Upon  these  posts  rests  the  set 
of  beams  that  support  the  rafters.  The  rafters  run 
from  the  top  of  the  posts  to  the  roof -tree,  which  is  sup- 
ported by  four  or  five  uprights  set  in  the  centre  of  the 
floor-space.  These  beams  are  all  laced  together  with 
braided  coconut  fibre,  sometimes  gaily  coloured.  The 
neatest  joinery  is  in  the  roof,  the  ceiling  being  the  under 
side  of  the  thatching,  which  is  laced  between  small, 
smoothly  dressed  branches.  These  beams  are  not  long, 
curved  tree-trunks  as  they  appear,  but  comparatively 
short  sections  of  coconut  wood,  fitted  and  dressed  and 
lashed  together  with  fibre  so  neatly  that  the  joints  are 
not  readily  discovered. 

"Usually  the  thatch  is  of  sugar  cane  leaves,  though 
occasionally  coco  fronds  or  pandanus  blades  are  used. 
The  walls  are  made  by  letting  down  the  'Venetian 
blinds'  of  braided  coco  palm  leaves  which  hang  from  the 
roof  beams  about  four  feet  above  the  ground.  Al- 
though there  is  no  indicated  door,  the  customary  en- 
trance is  through  the  opening  between  the  posts  to  the 
right  of  a  line  drawn  through  the  house  between  the 
centre  supports  of  the  roof-tree.  This  is  the  'front 
door';  the  'back  door'  is  any  opening  between  the  posts 
behind  a  line  at  right  angles  to  the  one  just  mentioned, 
and  dividing  the  house  between  the  first  two  of  the  cen- 
tral posts.  Before  these  centre  posts  the  host  and 
hostess  sit  when  receiving  their  guests,  and  here  the 
taupo  sits  when  she  makes  the  kava.  It  is  the  seat  of 
honour  for  the  inmates  of  the  house. 


A  SAMOAN  HOUSE  IN  THE  COURSE  OF  CONSTRUCTION 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  227 

"The  furniture  of  the  Samoan  house  consists  mainly 
of  mats  woven  from  coconut  and  pandanus  leaves,  some 
large  chests  containing  the  family  wardrobe,  dishes,  arms 
and  trinkets.  Most  of  the  food  is  served  on  the  leaves  of 
the  bread-fruit  tree  or  the  fau.  The  fine  mats  and 
tappa,  which  constitute  the  family  heirlooms,  are  kept 
in  rolls  upon  the  rafters.  The  beds  are  piles  of  mats, 
six  or  eight  deep,  above  which  are  suspended  regulation 
mosquito  nets." 

An  interesting  feature  of  this  description  is  the  ex- 
tent to  which  it  shows  the  coconut  as  figuring  as  a  build- 
ing material  in  the  Samoan  house,  and  now  that  the 
utility  of  that  remarkable  tree  has  been  mentioned,  this 
will  be  an  appropriate  place  to  outline  a  few  of  the  in- 
dispensable functions  it  fulfils  in  the  life  of  all  South 
Sea  islanders. 

There  are  several  articles  of  food  and  general  utility, 
both  animal  and  vegetable,  which  are  of  almost  vital 
importance  to  the  peoples  by  whom  they  are  used,  and 
prominent  among  these  may  be  noted  the  seal  of  the 
Esquimaux,  the  salmon  of  the  British  Columbian  and 
Alaskan  Indians,  and  the  rice  and  bamboo  of  the  Jap- 
anese, Chinese  and  East  Indians.  Yet  none  of  these  to 
their  respective  users  occupies  anything  near  so  impor- 
tant a  place  as  does  the  coconut  to  the  South  Sea  islander. 
Copra,  the  dried  kernel  of  the  coconut,  is  the  leading, 
and  almost  the  only,  article  of  commerce  in  every  island 
of  the  South  Pacific,  and  as  such  is  the  principal  con- 
tributor to  the  income  of  the  natives  from  which  every- 
thing else  they  use  is  bought.  The  copra  of  the  South 
Pacific  islands  is  incomparably  finer  than  that  of  the 
South  American,  West  Indian  or  African  tropics,  and 


228     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  plantations  of  Samoa,  Fiji  and  Tahiti  are  the  larg- 
est and  most  productive  in  the  world.  Practically  all 
of  the  copra  goes  to  London  or  San  Francisco  to  be 
elaborated  into  a  great  variety  of  products,  ranging 
from  railroad  grease  to  high  class  toilet  soap  and  con- 
fectionery. A  large  and  rapidly  increasing  trade  has 
also  sprung  up  in  the  outer  husk  of  the  coconut  which 
is  used  in  the  manufacture  of  a  very  durable  floor  mat- 
ting. 

It  is  through  its  direct  utility  to  the  South  Sea  native, 
however,  rather  than  for  its  commercial  value,  that  the 
coconut  attains  its  real  importance,  for  it  furnishes  him 
with  food,  drink  and  shelter,  and  figures  in  some  form 
or  other  as  an  almost  indispensable  adjunct  to  every 
pursuit,  occupation  and  recreation  in  which  he  indulges. 
Cuts  from  the  long,  tough  trunk  of  the  tree  are  used  for 
fence  posts  and  in  bridge  construction,  while  on  those 
islands  where  no  other  suitable  trees  are  found  a  com- 
plete and  adequate  dwelling  may  be  built  from  the  coco 
palm  alone.  The  trunks  serve  for  uprights,  rafters  and 
cross-braces,  while  the  leaves  make  a  durable  and  water- 
proof thatch  and  a  light  but  strong  siding.  These  may 
also  be  woven  into  a  dozen  different  kinds  of  baskets, 
bags  and  trays,  and,  braided  end  to  end,  make  an  ex- 
cellent drag-net  for  catching  fish. 

The  water  of  the  half -ripe  nuts  is  the  standard  drink 
of  the  islands.  A  good-sized  nut  will  furnish  close  to 
a  quart  of  liquid  which,  no  matter  how  high  the  tempera- 
ture of  the  air,  is  always  cool,  sweet  and  slightly  effer- 
vescent. The  milk  of  the  nut,  which  is  extracted  from 
the  kernel  by  grating  and  pressing,  is  used  as  a  flavour- 
ing for  various  dishes,  and  with  coffee  makes  an  excel- 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  229 

lent  substitute  for  cream.  Boiled  and  pressed,  the  ker- 
nel yields  an  oil  which  is  of  considerable  value  as  a 
lubricant,  and  as  a  stimulator  of  the  growth  of  the  hair 
is  without  a  peer.  It  is  to  their  free  use  of  coconut  oil, 
in  fact,  that  the  remarkable  hirsute  growth  of  the  Fi- 
jians  and  other  South  Sea  islanders  is  directly  attrib- 
uted. The  refuse  left  after  making  oil  is  fed  to  pigs  and 
poultry,  a  purpose  to  which  it  is  admirably  suited.  On 
the  delights  of  eating  coconut-fattened  pig,  roasted  on 
hot  stones  and  served  with  miti-hari  sauce — itself  a  mix- 
ture of  coco  milk  and  lime  juice — I  have  rhapsodized  in 
one  of  the  Tahiti  chapters. 

The  husk  of  the  coconut  is  woven  up  into  cinnet, 
lines  and  ropes,  and  as  such  employed  in  house  and  boat 
construction,  for  fishing,  and  for  every  other  purpose 
in  which  strands  of  manila,  sisal  or  cotton  ordinarily 
serve.  The  flint-like  shell  of  the  coconut  makes  a  useful 
grater  and  scraper,  and  when  heated  with  the  air  ex- 
cluded is  reduced  to  a  splendid  quality  of  charcoal.  The 
shells  are  also  used  for  drinking  cups,  water-bottles, 
scoops,  catch-alls  and  bailers  for  canoes.  Tapped  at 
its  heart,  the  trunk  yields  a  liquid  which  makes  an  ex- 
cellent substitute  for  yeast,  while  chunks  cut  from  the 
same  portion  of  the  tree  forms  the  base  of  a  salad  which 
is  the  delight  of  epicures,  both  native  and  white.  A  still 
more  delectable  salad  is  made  from  the  crisp  meat  of 
the  budding  nuts. 

I  pause  with  the  list  still  incomplete,  but  enough  uses 
have  been  enumerated,  I  trust,  to  make  it  comprehen- 
sible that  the  most  drastic  punishment  that  can  be  meted 
out  to  a  South  Sea  village — one  that  is  still  resorted  to 
in  the  Solomons  and  New  Hebrides  when  a  missionary 


230     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

is  murdered  or  a  labour  schooner  "cut  out" — is  to  de- 
stroy its  coconut  trees. 

Our  Samoan  laundryman  was  the  source  of  consider- 
able amusement  during  our  stay  in  Pago  Pago.  Sev- 
eral of  those  indispensable  functionaries  came  alongside 
on  the  day  of  the  yacht's  arrival,  all  bearing  credentials 
of  the  highest  order.  One  Maritomi,  however,  with  a 
testimonial  on  the  crested  note  paper  of  the  Earl  of 
Crawford  affirming  that  the  bearer  had  done  the  wash- 
ing for  his  yacht,  Valhalla,  during  her  visit  to  Pago 
Pago,  and  had  performed  the  work  with  neatness  and 
dispatch,  made  the  most  favourable  impression  and  was 
given  a  trial  bundle.  Among  the  things  was  a  number 
of  white  duck  uniforms,  from  the  coats  of  which,  in  the 
hurry  of  arrival,  the  brass  buttons  had  not  been  removed. 
The  coats  came  back  in  time,  neatly  laundered,  but  un- 
accompanied either  by  the  buttons  or  an  explanation. 

When  Maritomi  came  round  for  the  washing  the  fol- 
lowing week  he  at  first  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  miss- 
ing buttons,  asseverating  that  he  was  a  "mitinary"  boy 
and  therefore  could  not  steal  even  if  he  wanted  to. 
This  failing  to  make  an  impression,  he  finally  admitted 
that  he  had  the  buttons,  but  claimed  that  buttons  were 
his  rightful  perquisites,  adding  that  he  had  kept  the 
buttons  of  the  Earl  of  Crawford  every  wash  and  had 
still  been  given  a  good  character  by  His  Lordship's 
steward.  What  was  more,  he  said  he  was  going  to  keep 
all  of  our  buttons  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  was 
going  to  feel  very  hurt  if  we,  too,  didn't  give  him  a  good 
character  on  our  departure.  We  didn't  think  we  were 
better  than  the  Earl  of  Crawford,  did  we?  That  would 
be  too  absurd  when  the  Valhalla  was  three  times  as  big 


IN  PAGO  PAGO  BAY  231 

as  the  Lurline  and  had  steam-power  besides.  Of 
course  there  was  no  upsetting  a  precedent  established  by 
so  illustrious  a  personage  as  the  Earl  of  Crawford,  and 
therefore  it  was  that  all  that  our  good  laundryman 
threatened  came  to  pass. 

On  the  morning  of  our  departure  when  he  came  off 
with  farewell  presents  of  tappa  and  war  clubs,  the 
grateful  Maritomi  showed  his  appreciation  of  the  testi- 
monial we  had  given  him  by  appearing  in  one  of  the 
Commodore's  white  duck  uniforms,  with  Lurline  buttons 
drawing  the  jacket  together  across  his  brawny  chest, 
while  the  delivery  boy  who  accompanied  him  perspired 
in  the  unwonted  grip  of  a  dress  coat  of  an  officer  of  the 
Valhalla.  We  forgave  Maritomi  much  for  the  delicacy 
of  feeling  he  displayed  in  putting  the  Valhalla  coat  on 
the  delivery  boy. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SAMOAN  CRICKET:     FAUGA-SA  v.  PAGO  PAGO 

THE  captain  of  Fauga-sa  drank  deep  from  his  epu  of 
kava,  tossed  the  heel-taps  over  his  shoulder  as  etiquette 
required,  and  sent  the  shining  coconut  cup  spinning  back 
across  the  mat  to  the  feet  of  the  taupo,  who,  in  festal  re- 
galia of  dancing  skirt  and  tulga,  presided  at  the  kava 
bowl.  Then  he  nodded  gravely  to  the  Pago  Pago  cap- 
tain opposite,  and  each  leaned  forward  and  laid  a  honey- 
hearted  hibiscus  blossom  in  the  palm  of  his  outstretched 
hand. 

Instantly  every  voice  within  and  without  the  council 
house  was  hushed,  and  in  the  waiting  silence  the  buzzing 
of  a  huge  blue-bottle  fly  sounded  insistently  above  the 
lap  of  the  wavelets  on  the  beach  and  the  lisp  of  the 
leaves  of  the  palms.  Suddenly  the  buzzing  ceased,  and 
with  a  great  shout  of  triumph  the  Fauga-sa  captain 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  waved  a  hand  from  the  doorway, 
on  which  action  his  shout  was  immediately  taken  up  by 
the  other  eight  and  sixty  members  of  his  team,  who 
fairly  set  the  hillsides  ringing  with  their  ululating  cries. 

And  why  should  they  not  cheer?  Had  not  the  fly 
alighted  upon  the  hand  of  their  chief  and  captain,  Mala- 
toba,  thus  giving  him  the  "choice,"  and  would  he  not 
send  the  Pago  Pagos  in  to  bat  during  the  storm  which 
every  sign  said  was  due  for  the  next  morning,  leaving 
Fauga-sa  the  cool,  dry  days  that  always  follow  a  storm 
to  finish  in?  What  matter  if  Pago  Pago  had  eighty- 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  233 

five  men  to  their  sixty-nine  ? — the  mud  would  soon  wear 
down  the  opposing  runners  and  more  than  make  up  for 
so  slight  a  handicap.  They  arrive  at  the  decision  some- 
what differently  on  the  beach  of  Pago  Pago  than  at 
Lord's,  but  the  winning  of  the  toss  is  of  no  less  impor- 
tance in  Samoan  cricket  than  in  English. 

Samoan  cricket  is  not  quite  so  primitive  as  that  of 
the  Esquimau  tribe  in  which  the  batsman,  with  a  thigh 
bone,  defends  a  wicket  made  of  ribs  of  the  animal  whose 
skull  the  bowler  launches  at  it ;  but  it  has  sufficient  points 
of  divergence  from  its  original  model  to  make  some  pref- 
atory explanation  essential  to  an  understanding  of  it. 
In  the  first  place,  then,  a  contest  between  two  localities 
is  a  far  more  representative  one  in  the  island  game  than 
in  real  cricket,  for  a  team  consists  of  every  able-bodied 
man  in  the  village — every  male  not  in  his  first  or  second 
childhood — and  if  one  village  chances  to  be  larger  than 
another  it  is  all  in  the  fortunes  of  war.     The  overwhelm- 
ing advantage  this  scheme  might  give  to  a  large  village 
over  a  small  one  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  minimized  by 
the  custom  of  having  a  relay  of  four  men  to  do  the 
running  for  all  of  the  batsmen  of  each  team;  and  if  its 
runners  are  not  men  of  great  endurance  as  well  as  speed, 
a  big  team  may  beat  itself  by  wearing  them  out  by 
heavy  scoring  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  contest. 

The  ball  is  "regulation,"  but  the  bat,  in  size  and  shape, 
is  more  like  that  used  in  baseball  than  in  cricket.  It 
is  made  of  light-coloured  native  wood  of  medium 
weight,  is  of  about  three  feet  in  length,  and  has  its 
large  end  slightly  flattened  for  striking  the  ball.  The 
handle  is  bound  with  cinnet  to  insure  a  grip.  The 
wicket  consists  of  one  stick  instead  of  three,  the  diffi- 


234     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

culty  of  hitting  which,  even  undefended,  makes  any- 
thing of  the  nature  of  "stone- walling"  tactics  quite  su- 
perfluous. The  batsman,  having  no  running  to  do,  sim- 
ply stands  up  and  drives  the  ball  about  until  he  is  out, 
the  latter  event,  except  for  special  ground  rules  that 
vary  even  between  village  and  village,  occurring  under 
practically  the  same  conditions  as  in  the  orthodox  game. 
Bowling,  both  as  regards  "overs"  and  the  distance  from 
which,  and  the  manner  in  which,  the  ball  is  delivered, 
does  not  differ  materially  from  ordinary  cricket. 

A  game  consists  of  but  a  single  inning,  and  is  never 
"drawn"  unless  the  score  chances  to  be  tied.  It  is  fin- 
ished when  every  man  playing  has  had  his  turn  with 
the  bat,  a  consummation  which  may  be  reached  in  any- 
thing from  four  to  twelve  days.  Time  is  not  of  the  es- 
sence of  the  contest,  and  as  no  one  ever  has  any  busi- 
ness or  other  engagements  to  call  him  away,  the  game 
is  always  fought  out  to  the  bitter  end. 

The  visiting  team  proceeds  in  boats  to  the  village 
with  which  it  is  to  play,  and  remains  there,  the  guest  of 
the  resident  chief,  during  the  period  of  the  match.  Play 
on  the  first  day  usually  commences  in  the  afternoon, 
but  on  the  days  following,  except  for  short  intermis- 
sions taken  by  the  fielding  team  for  a  triumphal  dance 
after  each  "out,"  lasts  from  daylight  to  dark.  The 
nights  are  spent  in  kava  drinking  and  siva-sivas,  and  a 
Samoan  village  after  a  week  of  cricket  is  over  always 
relapses  into  an  equal  period  of  almost  absolute  som- 
nolence while  it  takes  the  rest  cure. 

The  exhibition  cricket  which  is  occasionally  arranged 
for  the  benefit  of  visitors  in  Samoa  is  usually  played  on 
a  comparatively  smooth  and  level  open  space,  bearing 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  235 

some  slight  resemblance  to  a  regular  field,  but  when 
the  natives  are  playing  for  their  own  amusement  the 
pitch  is  more  likely  than  not  to  be  located  in  the  midst 
of  a  coconut  grove,  and  in  the  closest-built  part  of  the 
village.  Twelve  successive  hours  of  fielding  with  a  grill- 
ing tropical  sun  on  the  naked  back  has  its  terrors  even 
for  a  Samoan.  He  likes  the  shade  of  the  coconuts  and 
the  overhanging  eaves  of  thatch,  and  there  is  something 
in  the  uncertainty  of  handling  the  elusive  caroms  from 
ridge  poles  and  palm  fronds  that  appeals  to  his  simple 
native  mind. 

The  game  in  question  was  between  the  teams  of  the 
villages  of  Fauga-sa — the  Falesa  of  Stevenson's  story, 
"The  Beach  of  Falesa" — and  Pago  Pago,  respectively 
the  champions  of  the  leeward  and  windward  sides  of  the 
island  of  Tutuila.  The  winning  of  the  "toss"  by  Mala- 
toba  of  Fauga-sa  was  considered  of  great  importance, 
for  all  the  signs  were  for  a  southwest  gale  during  the 
first  days  of  the  match,  and  as  no  game  is  ever  called 
on  account  of  inclement  weather,  it  was  figured  that 
Pago  Pago's  runners  would  soon  tire  in  the  rain  and 
wind,  making  heavy  scoring  impossible,  while  the  bats- 
men could  be  retired  just  as  fast  in  rain  as  in  sunshine. 
And,  to  a  certain  degree,  thus  it  happened;  but  the 
handicap  to  Pago  Pago  was  only  sufficient  to  cut  down 
that  team's  excess  of  batsmen  and  bring  the  game  to  the 
most  spectacular  finish  in  the  history  of  Samoan  cricket. 

The  custom  of  having  special  men  to  do  the  running 
for  the  batsmen  originated,  it  is  said,  in  the  early  days  of 
the  game,  when  a  chief  who  had  been  lamed  in  battle, 
and  whose  presence  in  the  game  was  strictly  necessary 
from  a  social  standpoint,  was  allowed  the  privilege  of  a 


236     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

running  substitute.  The  effect  of  the  practice  is  the 
centring  of  this  work  upon  men  specially  chosen  and 
trained  for  swiftness  and  endurance,  while  any  man  able 
to  stand  erect  qualifies  as  a  batsman.  The  best  bat  of 
the  Apia  team  for  many  years  was  a  grizzled  old  war- 
rior with  an  aromatic  piece  of  sandal  wood  in  place  of 
a  left  leg  that  had  been  snapped  off  by  a  shark  in  his 
younger  days. 

Pago  Pago's  main  reliance  in  this  game  was  not  upon 
the  number  and  prowess  of  its  batsmen,  nor  upon  the 
skill  and  quickness  of  its  fielders,  nor  yet  upon  the 
speed  and  accuracy  of  its  bowlers,  but  rather  upon  two 
phenomenally  swift  runners  imported  for  the  occasion 
from  the  crack  Apia  team  of  the  island  of  Upolou. 
These  men,  Motu  and  Roboki,  were  reputed  so  speedy 
that  they  could  exchange  places  while  the  ball  was  be- 
ing passed  from  the  wicket-keeper  to  the  bowler,  and 
on  good  clean  drives  into  the  ocean  it  was  said  that  they 
had  often  piled  up  a  dozen,  and  even  a  score,  of  runs. 
A  Samoan  cricket  field  has  no  "boundaries,"  and  run- 
ning is  kept  up  until  the  ball  is  returned  or  declared 
"officially  lost"  by  the  umpire,  a  maximum  of  twenty 
runs  being  allowed  in  the  latter  event. 

With  a  great  beating  of  drums,  tooting  of  conches 
and  blowing  of  horns,  the  Fauga-sa  men  scattered  out 
to  their  places,  while  Chief  Mauga  of  Pago  Pago 
squared  away  to  face  the  bowling  of  Chief  Malatoba. 
Motu  and  Roboki,  the  runners,  crouched  in  readiness 
for  a  lightning  start,  the  umpires  waved  their  insignias 
of  office,  folded  umbrellas,  and  the  big  game  had  begun ! 

The  first  ball  struck  a  lump  of  coral,  broke  sharply  to 
leg,  and  Mauga  ducked  just  in  time  to  save  his  ribs, 


"CHIEF  MAUGA  SQUARED  AWAY  TO  FACE  THE  BOWLING  OF  CHIEF 

MALATOBA" 


o   - 


tf   ^ 

o  .i 


li 


55    ^ 

H   '= 


Q    o 
<    & 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  237 

while  the  spheroid,  spinning  off  the  wicket-keeper's  fin- 
gers, struck  a  coconut  trunk  and  ricocheted  into  a  bunch 
of  bananas,  Motu  and  Roboki  completing  four  swift 
dashes  up  and  down  their  coral  path  before  it  was  re- 
turned. The  second  ball  came  straight  for  the  wicket, 
and  though  it  fell  dead  from  Mauga's  bat  almost  at  his 
feet,  the  nimble  runners,  like  two  dark  spectres,  again 
changed  ends.  Eight  more  times  they  passed  each  other 
for  the  next  three  balls,  only  one  of  which  was  touched 
by  the  batsman,  and  when,  on  the  last  ball  of  the  "over," 
Mauga  stepped  forward  and  laced  out  a  screaming  drive 
high  above  the  council  house  and  into  the  bay,  the  Pago 
Pago  sympathizers  fairly  went  wild  with  excitement. 
While  a  lithe-limbed  Fauga-sa  fielder  went  darting  like 
a  seal  through  the  water  after  the  ball,  Motu  and  Ro- 
boki, their  every  nerve  and  muscle  strained  to  its  utmost, 
were  piling  up  the  runs  for  Pago  Pago. 

Seven  times  they  had  passed  each  other  and  turned 
and  passed  again,  and  the  swimmer  had  only  reached  the 
ball  and  thrown  it  awkwardly  to  a  team-mate  close  be- 
hind him.  Twice  more  the  runners  flashed  by  each 
other,  and  the  ball  was  only  at  the  shore.  Motu  sig- 
nalled for  still  another  effort,  and  with  canes  out- 
stretched the  game  fellows  went  racing,  each  toward  his 
goal.  Half  way  up  from  the  shore  a  Fauga-sa  fielder 
fumbled  the  ball,  and  all  looked  safe  for  the  runners, 
when  a  fragment  of  coco  husk  caused  Roboki  to  turn 
his  ankle  just  at  the  instant  he  was  about  to  pass  his 
partner,  sending  him  plunging,  head-on,  into  Motu,  both 
of  them  collapsing  into  a  jumbled  heap.  The  ball 
came  on  an  instant  later  and  both  batsmen,  through  the 
failure  of  their  runners,  were  declared  out.  Motu  and 


238     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Roboki  recovered  consciousness  in  the  course  of  the  next 
hour,  but  were  of  no  further  use  to  their  team  until  the 
following  day. 

Out  of  deference  to  the  feelings  of  their  opponents, 
the  Fauga-sas  omitted  the  dance  customarily  indulged 
in  each  time  a  batsman  is  put  out,  but  when  the  next 
man  to  face  the  bowling  popped  up  an  easy  ball  and 
was  caught  in  the  slips,  they  made  up  for  lost  time. 
Whirling  and  yelling  like  dervishes,  they  rushed  into  a 
solid  phalanx  formation,  and  then,  with  rhythmic  clap- 
pings of  hands  and  stampings  of  feet,  made  a  circuit 
of  the  ground,  finally  to  end  up  in  front  of  the  squatting 
ranks  of  the  waiting  batsmen  of  Pago  Pago.  Here 
they  continued  their  antics  for  a  minute  or  two  more, 
jocosely  pointing  out  the  fate  of  the  man  just  disposed 
of  as  the  fate  which  awaited  the  rest  of  his  team.  Then 
they  broke  up  and  went  to  playing  again. 

Not  in  the  least  disheartened  by  so  unpropitious  a 
start,  the  Pago  Pago  batsmen  began  slamming  the  ball 
about  at  this  juncture,  and  by  dark,  though  only  fifteen 
wickets  had  fallen,  a  total  of  240  runs  had  been  put  up, 
the  largest  half -day's  score  ever  made  in  Samoa.  Most 
of  these  runs  were  the  result  of  long  drives,  which, 
though  high  in  the  air,  were  almost  impossible  to  catch 
on  account  of  the  trees.  Only  one  man  was  clean 
bowled,  most  of  the  outs  being  due  to  balls  which  flew 
up  from  the  bat  and  were  caught  by  one  of  the  horde 
that  clustered  at  point. 

A  local  ground  rule  which  held  that  a  ball  was  fairly 
caught  when  intercepted  rolling  from  a  roof  or  drop- 
ping from  a  tree  was  responsible  for  the  finish  of  sev- 
eral good  batsmen.  Almost  in  the  middle  of  the  field 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  239 

was  a  large  thatch-roofed  house,  oval  in  form,  tempo- 
rarily occupied  by  the  scorers,  the  taupo  and  her  hand- 
maidens, and  the  distinguished  visitors.  A  solid  circle 
of  fielders  ringed  this  house,  and  several  men  were  re- 
tired on  balls  smartly  caught  as  they  cannoned  from 
the  springy  thatch. 

Perhaps  the  most  amusing  event  of  the  afternoon  was 
the  disgrace  brought  upon  himself  by  Samau,  son  of 
Chief  Malatoba,  and  the  crack  bat  and  fielder  of  the 
Fauga-sas.  Samau  was  a  dandified  young  blade  with 
a  great  opinion  of  himself  as  a  lady's  man,  who,  be- 
cause of  his  rather  clever  handling  of  a  couple  of  long 
drives  early  in  the  game,  had  been  giving  himself  airs 
and  doing  a  deal  of  noisy  boasting.  Just  as  the  setting 
sun  dipped  behind  the  towering  backbone  of  the  island 
and  a  grateful  coolness  came  creeping  down  with  the 
shadows  from  the  bosky  hillsides,  Seuka,  the  pretty 
taupo  of  Pago  Pago,  strolled  out  through  the  coconuts, 
and  when  near  Samau,  threw  up  her  lovely  arms  and 
hands  in  the  expressive  Samoan  gesture  signifying  a 
complete  surrender  of  heart  and  soul.  Apparently  no 
whit  moved,  the  haughty  youth  only  tossed  his  Turkish 
towel-beturbaned  head  and  proceeded  to  knock  down 
with  one  hand  a  sizzling  hot  drive  that  came  toward  him 
headed  for  the  beach.  Thus  spurned,  the  artful  Seuka 
sank  down  for  a  space  upon  a  nearby  mat  in  an  attitude 
suggestive  of  the  profoundest  grief,  shortly,  however, 
to  return  to  the  attack  from  a  perch  on  the  veranda  of 
the  little  white  Mission  church  which  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  Samau's  territory. 

The  proud  youth  tried  valiantly  for  a  while  to  stem 
the  tide  of  his  ebbing  interest  in  the  game,  but  the  little 


240     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

lady  seemed  so  palpably  smitten  with  his  charms  that, 
out  of  the  very  softness  of  his  heart,  he  finally  edged 
over  and,  still  keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  the  batsman, 
began  to  talk  to  her.  Soon  Seuka  was  observed  hold- 
ing something  playfully  behind  her  back  and  tantaliz- 
ing the  scornful  Samau  by  denying  him  a  look.  At 
last  the  unlucky  fellow's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  him, 
and  for  one  fatal  moment  he  was  seen  to  turn  his  back 
and  begin  to  scuffle  with  the  laughing  coquette  for  the 
possession  of  the  keepsake  she  was  withholding.  At  the 
same  instant  the  batsman  smote  the  ball  a  ringing  crack 
and  sent  it  flying  into  the  top  of  a  tall  coco  palm  above 
the  church.  From  the  palm  the  ball  dropped  to  the 
roof  of  the  mission,  rolled  to  the  veranda,  and  finally 
fell  off  almost  upon  the  head  of  the  frightened  Samau, 
who  was  standing  gaping  foolishly  at  the  wildly  ges- 
ticulating horde  of  his  team  mates  who  came  bearing 
down  upon  him.  It  would  have  been  an  easy  catch 
had  he  been  attending  to  business,  and  as  the  full  enor- 
mity of  the  crushed  dandy's  offence  dawned  upon  him, 
he  turned  tail  and  ran  for  the  bush,  closely  followed  by 
a  dozen  irate  Fauga-sa  men  and  a  black  and  white  cur. 
Being  the  fastest  man  on  his  team,  Samau  easily  out- 
distanced the  pursuit,  but  it  was  said  that  he  stayed  in  the 
bush  all  night,  and  that  he  was  only  allowed  to  enter 
the  game  next  day  upon  the  solemn  promise  not  to 
speak  to  another  woman  until  his  return  to  the  home 
village. 

The  second  day  the  expected  storm  came  on,  and  on 
that  and  the  two  following  days  there  was  a  gale  of 
wind  and  almost  incessant  rain.  Through  it  all  the 
game  went  merrily  on,  and  despite  unfavourable  con- 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  241 

ditions  Pago  Pago  continued  to  add  to  its  score  until, 
when  the  last  batsman  was  out  on  the  fifth  day,  a  total 
of  1,386  runs  had  been  chalked  up  to  its  credit.  By 
this  time  fine  weather  had  set  in  again,  but  even  with 
this  in  their  favour  it  did  not  seem  possible  for  the 
Fauga-sas  to  equal  the  tremendous  score  that  faced 
them.  When  twenty -three  wickets  went  down  the  first 
day  for  a  paltry  three  hundred  runs  the  situation  looked 
more  hopeless  than  ever. 

Things  brightened  up  for  a  while  on  the  second  day 
when  Samau,  the  disgraced  one,  batted  up  a  rattling 
eighty-two,  fifteen  of  which  were  put  up  by  his  speedy 
runners  during  a  diversion  among  the  fielders  caused 
by  a  nest  of  hornets  which  one  of  the  batsman's  swift 
drives  had  unexpectedly  dislodged  from  a  bread-fruit 
tree.  After  this  the  Fauga-sa  batting  slumped  off 
again,  and  the  day  closed  with  something  in  excess  of 
seven  hundred  runs  to  the  team's  credit,  and  thirty-nine 
wickets  down.  The  third  day  seventeen  more  wickets 
fell  for  fewer  than  three  hundred  runs,  so  that  on  the 
morning  of  the  fourth  day — the  ninth  of  the  match — 
the  fag  end  of  the  Fauga-sa  batting  faced  a  shortage  of 
nearly  four  hundred  runs. 

The  first  man  to  encounter  the  bowling  on  what 
proved  to  be  the  final  day  of  the  match  was  a  youth 
called  "Johnny,"  a  nickname  which  took  its  origin  from 
the  fact  that  its  bearer  had  once  been  employed  as  a 
dishwasher  in  the  galley  of  the  American  gunboat  sta- 
tioned in  the  harbour.  He  had  been  playing  baseball 
with  the  Yankee  marines,  and  that  this  was  his  first 
game  of  cricket  was  evident  when  he  squared  away  with 
his  bat  over  his  shoulder  as  though  facing  pitching  in- 


242     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

stead  of  bowling.  Heedless  of  the  ridicule  heaped  upon 
him  for  his  lack  of  "form,"  "Johnny"  calmly  stepped 
out  and  slammed  the  first  ball — which  chanced  to  be  a 
full  pitch — over  the  tops  of  the  highest  palms  and  down 
into  a  running  stream  in  the  bottom  of  a  little  gully. 
Down  the  stream  it  went,  bobbing  merrily  on  the  way  to 
the  beach,  and  before  it  was  recovered  the  swift-footed 
runners  had  traversed  the  course  a  dozen  times.  The 
second  ball  came  at  the  batsman's  feet,  and  the  hockey- 
like  sweep  he  made  of  it  narrowly  missed  being  caught 
by  the  bowler.  The  third  ball  struck  away  in  front  of 
him,  and,  stepping  back,  "Johnny"  smote  it  hard  and 
true,  straight  into  the  house  where  sat  the  scorers,  the 
visitors  and  the  members  of  Chief  Mauga's  household. 
All  scattered  as  they  saw  it  coming,  and  the  whizzing 
sphere  had  traversed  nearly  the  whole  distance  to  the 
further  side  of  the  house  before  it  landed,  dull  and 
heavy,  in  the  ribs  of  little  Oo-hee,  the  misshapen  dwarf 
kept  by  Mauga  in  the  capacity  of  mascot  and  jester. 

Oo-hee  was  stretched  bawling  on  the  mat,  but  the 
question  of  how  hard  he  was  hit  was  entirely  lost  sight 
of  in  the  excitement  surrounding  the  momentous  im- 
port attaching  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  hit  at  all. 
A  dwarf  is  regarded  with  the  same  superstitious  awe  in 
Samoa  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  and  there,  too, 
no  better  method  is  known  of  deflecting  a  current  of 
bad  luck  than  by  touching  the  hump  of  a  hunchback. 
But  actually  to  bring  down  a  hunchback  with  a  cricket 
ball  was  a  thing  unprecedented.  Pago  Pago  looked 
serious  about  it  and  Fauga-sa  began  to  take  heart — 
surely  something  was  going  to  happen! 

And  something  did  happen,  too,  and  that  right  speed- 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  243 

ily.  "Johnny"  missed  his  fourth  ball,  and  the  fifth,  just 
touching  the  butt  of  his  bat,  went  hopping  and  spinning 
off  along  the  ground  like  a  wounded  duck.  Some  idea 
of  such  a  resemblance  must  have  been  awakened  in  the 
active  mind  of  the  little  black  and  white  village  cur, 
who,  cocked  up  in  the  shade  of  a  palm  had  been  conduct- 
ing a  punitive  expedition  against  a  particularly  aggra- 
vating flea,  for  he  pounced  on  the  ball  with  a  glad  yelp 
and  began  shaking  it  like  a  thing  alive.  No  whit  damp- 
ened in  ardour  by  the  failure  of  the  object  of  his  at- 
tack to  fight  back,  the  frisky  canine  kept  valiantly  at 
his  task,  and  when  the  onrush  of  fielders  seemed  to 
threaten  him  with  total  annihilation,  he  began  to  dodge 
and  skip  about  among  them  as  though  proud  to  be  the 
centre  of  so  much  attention.  But  when  he  saw  Mauga, 
roaring  with  rage  at  the  thought  of  the  Fauga-sa  run- 
ners adding  to  their  team's  score  at  the  rate  of  a  run 
every  three  or  four  seconds,  seize  a  cutlass  and  come 
charging  down  upon  him,  he  realized  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake.  Whereupon,  therefore,  he  tucked  his  wisp 
of  a  tail  between  his  legs  and  flew  as  the  bee  flies, 
straight  for  the  bush,  even  forgetting,  in  his  terror,  to 
drop  the  ball. 

When  Mauga  and  the  rest  of  his  braves  came  back 
from  a  bootless  chase,  it  was  to  be  met  with  the  discon- 
certing news  that  not  another  ball  was  to  be  found  in 
the  village.  Anxiously  renewed  inquiry,  however,  met 
with  better  reward,  for  one  of  the  missionary's  boys  was 
found  to  have  an  old  ball,  still  quite  hard  and  round 
and  in  good  condition  in  every  respect,  save  for  the  fact 
that  one  side  of  it,  in  lieu  of  anything  better  to  hand, 
had  been  patched  with  a  piece  of  shark's  hide.  Under 


244     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ordinary  conditions  the  Pago  Pagos  would  not  have 
thought  of  consenting  to  use  such  a  ball,  for  the  surface 
of  dry  shark's  hide  has  all  the  roughness  of  a  rasp  com- 
bined with  the  sharpness  of  the  nettle;  but  the  game 
seemed  nearly  won,  and  it  is  not  in  the  Samoan  nature 
to  brook  the  postponement  of  a  certain  triumph  if  it  can 
possibly  be  helped. 

Fauga-sa  was  chalked  up  with  twenty  runs  for  the 
lost  ball,  and  the  game  was  started  up  again.  Gingerly 
settling  the  prickly  sphere  back  in  his  fingers,  the  bowler 
delivered  the  sixth  ball  of  "Johnny's"  over,  and  this 
the  latter,  swinging  wildly,  missed  and  was  clean 
bowled. 

This  lucky  beginning  filled  the  Pago  Pagos  with 
great  elation,  from  which  state  they  were  rudely  jos- 
tled a  moment  later  when  the  next  batsman  drove  a 
hot  line  ball  which  scoured  out  the  palm  of  the  hand  of 
one  of  the  swarm  of  cover-points  and  set  him  howling 
home  to  bind  the  wound  with  ti  leaves.  After  that  the 
fielders  handled  the  dreaded  ball  as  if  it  was  a  live 
coal,  and  though  wickets  kept  falling  from  time  to  time, 
runs  came  fast  between  until,  when  the  last  Fauga-sa 
man  but  one  was  out,  the  total  of  the  team's  runs  was 
but  four  behind  the  aggregate  of  Pago  Pago. 

The  final  batsman  was  an  old  man  with  weak  eyes, 
who,  after  missing  three  balls,  caught  the  fourth  on 
tne  edge  of  his  bat  and  shot  it  high  up  into  the  top  of 
a  towering  coconut  palm.  Like  a  swarm  of  wolves 
the  Pago  Pago  fielders,  with  outstretched  hands, 
crowded  beneath  the  preciously-freighted  fronds,  and 
like  the  shuttles  of  a  madly-driven  loom  the  runners 
of  Fauga-sa  darted  back  and  forth.  Once,  twice, 


i,m*fis 
•I  *          -^-vISs 


-    - 

H     U 
><     tt 


"A   SINEWY   BROWN    FIGURE    STARTS    CLAMBERING    UP   THE    TREE* 


SAMOAN  CRICKET  245 

thrice,  four  times — and  finally — five  times  they  go,  and 
then  one  of  the  umpires  waves  his  umbrella  and  an- 
nounces that  Fauga-sa  has  won  the  game. 

But  stay!  A  sinewy  brown  figure  starts  clambering 
up  the  tree.  Now  he  has  reached  the  top,  now  grasped 
the  ball  with  eager  hand,  and  now  he  is  back  among 
his  team-mates  on  the  ground.  And  listen!  What  was 
that?  The  second  umpire  is  speaking — he  announces 
that  Pago  Pago  wins  the  game. 

And  which  team  really  won  the  contest  is  a  moot  ques- 
tion to  this  day;  but  if  ever  you  chance  to  go  to  the 
island  of  Tutuila  and  desire  to  start  a  Samoan  "Donny- 
brook,"  just  mention,  on  an  occasion  when  one  or  more 
stalwarts  from  both  of  these  villages  are  within  hearing 
of  your  voice,  the  last  championship  game  that  was  ever 
played  between  the  Pago  Pago  and  Fauga-sa  teams. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  VISIT   TO   APIA 

ON  the  9th  of  June  we  sailed  from  Pago  Pago  for 
Apia,  planning  to  return  at  the  end  of  a  week  in  order  to 
be  present  at  an  official  flag-raising  which  our  patriotic 
friend,  Chief  Mauga,  was  preparing  for.  We  found 
the  breeze  veering  and  uncertain  as  we  beat  out  of  the 
harbour  late  in  the  afternoon,  but  ample  working  room 
and  the  absence  of  strong  currents  in  the  entrance  to 
this  splendid  bay  made  the  direction  of  the  wind  of  little 
moment.  Beyond  the  shelter  of  the  harbour  walls  the 
waves,  driven  by  an  unusually  heavy  Trade,  were  run- 
ning tumultuously  from  the  southeast  in  frothy  hum- 
mocks of  cotton  wool.  For  a  couple  of  miles,  close- 
hauled,  we  stood  straight  out  from  the  land,  the  yacht 
one  moment  burying  her  nose  in  a  malignant  curl  of 
green,  and  the  next  tossing  it  skyward  while  a  ton  or  two 
of  solid  water  went  bounding  back  along  the  deck  and 
gurgled  hoarsely  out  through  the  overworked  scuppers. 
When  the  offing  was  sufficient  sheets  were  slacked  off 
and  we  headed  down  the  coast  on  a  broad  reach,  making 
good  speed  in  spite  of  heavy  rollings  in  the  wrench  of  the 
quartering  seas. 

The  west  blazed  for  a  few  moments  as  the  sun  went 
down,  to  be  quickly  quenched  by  a  curtain  of  black 
cloud  that  was  thrown  across  the  heavens  in  a  final  shift- 
ing of  the  scenery  for  the  most  spectacular  exhibition 
of  marine  pyrotechnics  that  is  to  be  seen  in  the  whole 

246 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  247 

length  and  breadth  of  the  Seven  Seas — a  June  night 
assault  by  the  Pacific  upon  the  "Iron  Bound  Coast"  of 
Tutuila. 

The  "Iron  Bound  Coast"  opens  up  beyond  the  first 
point  west  of  the  entrance  to  Pago  Pago  Bay  and  runs 
up  the  island  for  a  half-dozen  miles  or  more,  squarely 
across  the  path  of  advancing  lines  of  seas  that  have  been 
charging  to  the  attack  and  gathering  weight,  impetus 
and  arrogance  in  a  thousand  miles  of  unbroken  rush 
before  the  scourges  of  the  Southeast  Trade.  Their 
repulse  is  sudden,  sharp  and  decisive,  and  the  beetle- 
browed,  black-ribbed  cliffs  accomplish  it  without  a 
change  of  expression.  The  waves  have  been  beating 
their  heads  to  pieces  against  these  same  frowning,  im- 
passive barriers  for  a  million  years,  more  or  less,  and 
yet  they  are  never  able  to  overcome  their  surprise,  never 
stoical  enough  to  hide  their  resentment,  never  capable  of 
restraining  their  expostulations.  And  what  floods  of 
supplications,  what  varieties  of  protests  they  pour  out! 
If  you  approach  near  enough,  following  the  thundering 
crash  against  the  cliff,  they  appeal  to  you  from  where 
they  fall  with  sobs  of  anguish  and  groans  of  pain ;  if  you 
gaze  from  afar  they  beckon  you  with  high-flung  distress 
flags  of  white  foam,  and  if  you  pass  in  the  darkness  they 
signal  their  despair  with  ghostty  bonfires  of  glowing 
spume  and  phantom  rockets  of  phosphorescent  spray. 

It  was  such  a  display  that  we  were  treated  to  on  the 
night  of  the  9th  of  June,  and  under  a  fortunate  com- 
bination of  circumstances  that  made  it  especially  im- 
pressive. The  seas  about  the  Samoas  are  extraordi- 
narily prolific  of  the  animalcule  whose  presence  makes 
sea  water  phosphorescent,  and  in  May  and  June  occur 


248     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

their  periods  of  greatest  activity.  That  this  night  was 
moonless  and  heavily  overcast  made  the  conditions  espe- 
cially favourable.  Daylight  and  twilight  had  passed  in 
swift  transition,  and  the  yacht  was  sailing  in  inky  dark- 
ness as  she  rounded  the  point  and  opened  up  the  Iron 
Bound  Coast.  For  a  moment  the  darkness  held,  and 
through  it  the  imminent  loom  of  the  island  was  only  a 
blur  of  darker  opacity  against  the  starless  void  above. 
Then  a  great  splash  of  flame  burst  forth,  and  in  an  in- 
stant more  the  coast  was  picked  out  in  lines  of  liquid  fire, 
the  reflections  from  which  bathed  the  whole  mountain- 
side in  fluttering  waves  of  ghostly  blue  light.  Here  a 
great  sea  struck  and  erupted  like  a  volcano  set-piece, 
spreading  out  fan-wise  and  falling  back  in  lines  of  vivid 
light;  there  a  big  blow-hole  exploded  in  thunderous 
geysers  of  flame,  and  close  by  a  smaller  vent  projected, 
as  from  the  nozzle  of  a  hose,  a  slender,  gleaming  stream 
of  liquid  fire.  In  places,  where  the  rock  ribs  of  the 
cliff  broke  evenly,  the  flashes  burst  out  in  regular  spurts 
of  pale  flame  like  those  from  the  broadside  of  a  warship, 
and  again,  where  submerged  rocks  and  crooked  elbows 
threw  one  wave  back  upon  another,  there  appeared  great 
welters  of  green  light  that  churned  and  bubbled  and 
swirled  like  liquid  lava. 

Like  the  film  of  a  biograph  the  vivid  panorama  of 
flame  slipped  past,  and  by  nine  o'clock  the  ridge  of  Sail 
Rock  Point  had  interposed  and  blotted  out  the  last  of  it. 
Beyond,  the  island  broke  into  hollow,  smooth-beached 
bays,  where  submerged  reefs  clipped  the  claws  of  the 
breakers  and  dissolved  them  in  broad  patches  of  faint 
luminosity  before  they  reached  the  shore.  At  ten 
o'clock,  in  order  not  to  reach  Apia  before  morning,  jib 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  249 

and  mainsail  were  taken  in  and  the  night  run  out  under 
foresail  and  forestay-sail. 

The  smooth,  green  hills  of  Upolou  were  close  at  hand 
to  the  southwest  at  daybreak,  and  at  seven  o'clock,  with 
jack  hoisted  for  a  pilot,  we  were  off  the  entrance  of  Apia 
harbour.  The  passage  to  the  bay  is  broad  and  straight, 
but,  as  that  port  was  German  at  the  time,  the  taking  of 
a  pilot  was  compulsory.  That  functionary  came  out 
promptly  in  response  to  our  signal,  and  a  half  hour  later 
left  the  yacht  at  anchor  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off  the  beach 
and  a  hundred  yards  from  where,  a  broken-backed  frame 
of  rusting  steel,  the  wreck  of  the  ill-fated  German  war- 
ship, Adler,  lay  high  up  on  the  coral  reef,  just  as  it  had 
been  left  by  the  waves  in  the  great  hurricane  of  1889. 

We  heard  from  eye-witnesses  the  story  of  that  hurri- 
cane when  we  went  ashore  in  the  afternoon;  of  how  the 
powerful  British  Calliope,  cheered  by  the  doomed  sailors 
in  the  shrouds  of  the  American  ships,  forced  her  way  in 
the  teeth  of  the  storm  out  through  the  passage  to  safety; 
of  the  destruction  of  the  Olga  and  Adler  and  Eber,  and 
Trenton  and  Vandalia  and  Nipsic;  of  the  frightful  loss 
of  life;  of  the  heroism  of  the  natives  in  risking  their 
lives  in  the  mountainous  surf  and  treacherous  back- wash 
to  save  their  late  enemies,  and  a  hundred  other  things 
closely  or  remotely  bearing  on  that  remarkable  disaster. 
Told  by  men  to  whom  the  memory  of  the  storm  was  still 
fresh  and  clear,  with  the  theatre  of  the  great  tragedy 
opening  before  us,  and  countless  souvenirs  of  one  kind 
or  another  at  hand  to  crystallize  interest,  the  recitals  were 
graphic  in  the  extreme  and  made  deep  impression  upon 
us  of  the  Lurline,  who  had  also  had  some  experience  of 
the  way  of  the  sea  in  its  harsher  moods. 


250     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

At  evening  as  we  came  down  to  the  landing  for  our 
boat  the  Commodore's  gaze  wandered  from  the  great 
pile  of  riven  steel  on  the  reef  to  where  the  yacht,  a  slen- 
der sliver  of  silver,  swung  slowly  to  her  anchor  in  the 
ebbing  tide.  At  that  moment  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  striking  through  the  gaunt  ribs  of  the  Adler's 
sinister  skeleton,  threw  a  frame  of  black  shadows  across 
the  water  to  rest  for  an  instant  in  dark  blotches  on 
Lurline's  snowy  side  and  break  the  gleaming  lines  of  her 
standing  rigging  into  rows  of  detached  bars  floating  in 
space.  Then  the  sun  dipped  behind  the  mountain  and 
the  outlines  of  reef  and  wreck  and  schooner  began  dim- 
ming under  a  veil  of  purple  mist. 

"I  don't  go  much  on  signs  myself,"  said  the  Commo- 
dore musingly  as  he  seated  himself  in  the  stern-sheets  of 
the  waiting  boat  and  took  the  yoke  lines,  "but  I  suppose 
there  are  a  good  many  sailors  who  would  worry  about  a 
coincidence  like  that.  Funny  thing,  too,  that  just  as  it 
happened  I  was  trying  to  figure  out  what  kind  of  a 
chance  our  poor  little  Lurline,  without  steam  or  power 
of  any  description,  would  stand  in  a  storm  that  could 
throw  a  ship  like  the  Adler  high  and  dry  out  of  the 
water.  And — hurricane  season  is  coming  on,  you  know 
— I'm  still  wondering  a  little,  that's  all." 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  written  that  the  question 
should,  in  a  measure,  be  answered  within  the  fortnight, 
though  the  demonstration,  fortunately,  was  not  to  take 
place  in  a  reef-encompassed  harbour. 

The  Bay  of  Apia,  like  that  of  Papeete,  is  a  typical 
South  Pacific  harbour ;  an  open  roadstead  on  the  leeward 
side  of  the  island,  with  a  reef  cutting  it  off  from  the  sea 
and  giving  good  protection  in  ordinary  weathers.  The 


S! 


- 


5 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  251 

only  reason  that  there  have  not  been  other  great  dis- 
asters like  that  of  1889  is  because  there  has  never  again 
chanced  to  be  so  many  large  ships  in  the  harbour  when 
a  hurricane  came  along.  The  hurricanes  still  blow  up 
every  now  and  then,  and,  just  as  in  that  historic  storm, 
all  the  shipping  that  cannot  go  to  sea  goes  ashore.  The 
bottom  of  Apia  Bay  is  almost  as  thickly  littered  with 
trading  schooner  wreckage  as  with  pink  coral. 

The  town  of  Apia,  though  picturesque — what  South 
Pacific  village  is  not  so? — has  scarcely  the  fascinating 
charm  of  Papeete  with  its  crumbling  sea-wall,  its  ave- 
nues of  giant  trees  and  its  wealth  of  traditions.  The 
business  section  of  the  town  consists  of  a  half  mile  strag- 
gle of  galvanized  iron  stores  following  the  line  of  the 
beach  road,  with  numerous  copra  warehouses  and  several 
stubby  piers  breaking  the  sweep  of  the  foreshore.  The 
houses  of  the  natives  are  scattered  about  through  the 
cocotrees  on  the  flat,  while  the  European  residences, 
bright  blocks  of  white,  dot  the  lower  slopes  of  the  moun- 
tain beyond.  Government  House,  cool,  spacious,  in- 
viting, stands  apart  from  the  others  in  the  midst  of  its 
well-kept  grounds,  and  higher  still,  through  rifts  of 
the  encompassing  verdure,  glimpses  may  be  had  of  the 
broad  porticos  of  Villa  Vailima,  the  old  home  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  the  loved  Tusitala  of  the  Samoans. 

Towering  above  Vailima  to  the  north  is  an  abrupt- 
sided  mountain,  running  up  the  slopes  of  which  your 
glass  reveals  the  scars  of  a  roughly-graded  path. 
Straight  up  it  goes,  without  zigzag  or  spiral,  until  it  dis- 
appears in  the  mists  about  the  cloud-wreathed  summit. 
If  there  were  poles,  it  might  be  the  clearing  for  a  tele- 
graph line  to  a  signal  station;  if  it  was  broader,  a  fire- 


252     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

break.  It  is  neither  of  these  utilitarian  things,  however, 
but  the  pathway  to  a  shrine.  Up  that  precarious  flood- 
torn  and  creeper-hung  foot-way  was  borne  with  tender 
care  the  man  who  understood  and  loved  Samoa  and  the 
Samoans  as  no  other  has  understood  and  loved  them. 
You  have  discovered  the  path  to  Stevenson's  tomb,  for 
up  there  where  the  shifting  draperies  of  the  clouds  have 
blown  back  to  show  a  dull  blur  of  grey  through  the 
wall  of  green  that  fronts  the  skyline,  is  where  the 
"sailor  home  from  the  sea"  is  lying  on  the  spot  that  he 
chose  for  his  final  resting  place. 

It  is  fitting  that  the  way  to  a  shrine  should  be  a  hard 
one,  for  to  the  man  filled  with  the  true  passion  of  pil- 
grimage the  pangs  of  the  journey  are  a  part  of  the  re- 
ward for  making  it.  The  one  who  loves  his  Stevenson 
and  his  South  Seas,  will  also  love  every  stone  upon  which 
he  stumbles,  every  creeper  that  rasps  his  cheek,  every 
throb  of  his  overworked  heart,  every  ache  in  his  racked 
muscles  in  that  soul  and  body-trying  climb  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain  where  the  Master  sleeps.  I  had 
seen  pilgrims  of  one  kind  or  another  stumbling  on  their 
way  many  times  previous  to  that  stormy  afternoon  that 
I  climbed  the  heights  behind  Vailima,  but  always  with- 
out comprehending  what  it  was  that  urged  them  for- 
ward. That  day  knowledge  came,  and  when,  in  the 
year  that  followed,  I  met  Nepalese  and  Burman  plod- 
ding the  dusty  river  road  to  Buddh-Gaya,  or  Turk  and 
Arab  trudging  south  from  Damascus  on  the  last  leg 
of  the  Mecca  Hadj,  it  was  to  greet  them  with  the  sym- 
pathetic smile  that  said,  "I,  too,  know  why." 

Of  the  Great  Ones  of  the  earth,  only  Cecil  John 
Rhodes,  looking  forth 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  253 

"Across  the  world  he  won — 
The  granite   of   the   ancient   North — 
Great  spaces  washed  with  sun," 

sleeps  as  appropriately  surrounded  as  does  Stevenson. 
But  Tusitala — I  have  seen  the  tears  start  to  the  eyes  of 
the  great  Chiefs,  Mataafa  and  Seumanu,  at  the  mention 
of  that  name — has  also  the  world  he  won  at  his  feet,  while 
on  his  tomb  are  words  unparalleled  in  fitness  by  any 
epitaph  ever  graven,  a  verse  as  deathless  as  the  fame  of 
the  gentle  soul  that  sleeps  beneath.  Stevenson's  self- 
composed  epitaph,  read  from  a  printed  page,  is  an  un- 
blemished jewel  of  verse,  no  more;  read  from  the  bronze 
tablet  of  the  tomb  by  the  climber  of  the  Heights,  to  the 
requiems  of  the  Trade-wind  in  the  trees  and  the  mutter 
of  the  distant  surf,  it  is  as  though  breathed  by  the  spirit 
of  the  Master  himself. 

"Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 

Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  glad  did  I  die, 

And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 
This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me: 

'Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be — 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea, 

And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill.'  " 

As  a  colonial  experiment  German  Samoa — the  is- 
lands of  Upolou,  S avaii,  Manono  and  Apolima — was 
not  a  startling  success.  During  the  first  four  years  of 
the  militant  Teutonic  government  disaffection  became 
rife  among  the  natives,  agricultural  production  fell  off 
and  trade  languished.  Realizing  that  a  change  of  pol- 
icy was  imperative,  Emperor  William  sent  out  to  Apia 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  statesmen  and  scholars  in 


254     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  Fatherland,  Dr.  Solf ,  a  former  member  of  the  Reichs- 
tag, and  under  his  wise  regime  much  of  the  lost  ground 
was  regained.  As  far  as  might  be  in  a  German  colony, 
the  new  Governor  endeavoured  to  follow  the  plan  so 
successfully  adopted  by  the  Americans  in  Tutuila,  that 
of  exercising  a  gentle  supervision  over  the  natives,  di- 
recting them  in  matters  of  insular  importance  and  leav- 
ing the  Chiefs  supreme  in  village  affairs.  This  policy — 
the  only  one  that  can  ever  be  successful  with  the  high- 
spirited,  liberty-loving  Samoans — will  be  good  as  long 
as  it  lasts,  but  unfortunately  it  will  take  a  man  of  no 
less  breadth  of  character,  humanity  and  imagination 
than  Dr.  Solf  to  maintain  it,  and  such  a  governor  is 
hardly  likely  to  be  forthcoming. 

As  the  administrator  of  actual  colonies,  Germany's 
problem  in  her  Samoan  possessions  is  a  more  difficult 
one  than  that  of  the  United  States,  which  only  exercises 
a  protectorate  over  Tutuila  and  Manua.  With  exten- 
sive copra  and  cacao  plantations  under  exploitation, 
German  subjects  in  Samoa  will  never  cease  to  chafe 
under  the  necessity  of  importing  practically  all  of  their 
labour  from  the  Solomons,  New  Hebrides  and  other 
islands  to  the  west,  when  there  are  thirty  or  forty  thou- 
sand Samoans  close  at  hand  who  spend  their  days  in 
dreaming  and  their  nights  in  singing  and  dancing.  Of 
course,  the  Samoans  never  have  performed  regular 
labour,  and  can  never  be  brought  to  do  so,  a  fact,  how- 
ever, which  the  energetic  and  industrious  Teuton  finds 
it  hard  to  understand.  A  governor  of  less  force  and 
breadth  of  vision  than  Dr.  Solf  will  find  it  difficult  to 
withstand  the  pressure  of  the  planting  interests  for  the 
inauguration  of  a  policy  that  will,  in  some  manner,  make 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  255 

the  Samoan  more  productive.  One  does  not  need  a  life- 
time of  acquaintance  with  the  Samoan  to  know  that  the 
first  step  in  this  direction  will  mark  the  beginning  of  an 
era  of  discontent  that  nothing  but  a  re-establishment  of 
the  broad,  human  regime  of  Dr.  Solf  can  bring  to  an  end. 

Dr.  Solf  was  the  Governor  of  German  Samoa  at  the 
time  of  our  visit  to  Apia,  and  our  meetings  with  him 
were  among  the  pleasantest  features  of  our  stay.  We 
found  him  all  that  our  naval  friends  in  Tutuila  had 
claimed,  quite  the  biggest  figure  among  South  Pacific 
executives,  and  it  was  with  no  surprise  and  much  pleas- 
ure that  we  heard  of  his  subsequent  elevation  to  the  post 
of  Colonial  Secretary,  next  to  that  of  Prime  Minister 
the  most  important  portfolio  in  the  gift  of  Emperor 
William.1 

Outside  of  his  political  activities,  Dr.  Solf  had  long 

1 1  have  left  the  three  preceding  paragraphs  as  originally  written.  The 
presence  of  a  man  of  Dr.  Solf  s  outstanding  ability  in  such  comparatively 
unimportant  possessions  as  the  German  Samoas  has  always  been  a  good 
deal  of  a  puzzle  to  me,  though  a  possible  reason  for  it  was  suggested  by  a 
remark  dropped  by  Frederick  William,  the  late  Crown  Prince,  whom  I  met 
in  the  course  of  his  visit  to  India  in  the  autumn  of  1911. 

"Perhaps  Apia  is  not  so  unimportant  to  us  as  you  may  think,"  he 
blurted  out  impatiently  when  I  told  him  it  had  always  seemed  strange 
to  me  that  Germany  had  kept  a  man  of  Cabinet  calibre  (Solf  had  recently 
been  recalled  to  Berlin  to  become  Colonial  Secretary)  for  a  decade  in  a 
colony  which  appeared  to  have  but  the  slightest  of  political  and  commer- 
cial prospects.  "Or,  at  least,  we  are  hopeful  of  developing  a  considerable 
trade  there  in  time,"  he  added  somewhat  confusedly,  as  though  his  first 
hasty  words  might  have  implied  more  than  he  intended. 

But  there  is  little  doubt  that  that  inadvertent  implication  pointed  to  the 
truth.  The  Samoas,  at  the  crossroads  of  the  Southern  Seas,  may  well 
have  been  intended  to  become  the  seat  of  the  German  Pacific  insular 
empire  when  Deutschland  Ueber  Alles  had  become  an  accomplishd  fact 
in  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  is  easy  to  understand  how  the  Junkers  of 
the  Pan-German  party  may  have  deemed  the  blazing  the  way  for  such  a 
consummation  a  task  not  too  small  for  the  powers  of  the  suave  and 
diplomatic  Solf.  The  latter's  broad  humanitarianism  (in  which  I  have 


256     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

been  prominent  in  German  yachting  circles,  and  on  one 
of  his  calls  aboard  Lurline  he  appeared  in  the  uniform 
of  an  officer  of  the  Kiel  Yacht  Club. 

An  especially  pleasing  coincidence  of  our  visit  to  Apia 
was  the  arrival  there,  on  the  day  following  our  own,  of 
the  auxiliary  schooner  yacht,  La  Carabine,  of  Mel- 
bourne, with  her  owner,  Sir  Rupert  Clark,  and  his 
brother,  Lieutenant  Ralph  Clark,  R.N.,  aboard.  Sir 
Rupert  is  the  eldest  son  of  the  famous  philanthropist, 
the  late  Sir  William  Clark,  and  in  addition  to  being  the 
richest  man  in  the  Commonwealth  and  its  most  promi- 
nent racing  figure,  is  also  distinguished  as  being  one  of 
the  only  two  Australian  baronets.  His  brother,  Lieu- 
tenant Clark,  for  some  years  the  Navigating  Officer  of 
the  flagship  of  the  British  Australian  Squadron,  re- 
signed his  commission  to  sail  La  Carabine  on  the  cruise 
on  which  she  was  then  embarked. 

La  Carabine  we  found  to  be  a  stoutly  built  schooner 
of  fifty  tons'  register  constructed  in  Auckland  espe- 
cially for  sailing  in  Polynesia  and  Micronesia.  Her 
heavy  channels  and  running  bowsprit  marked  her  at 
once  as  British,  while  her  stubby  foremasts  and  huge 
lifeboats  suggested  the  trader  rather  than  the  yacht. 

never  ceased  to  believe)  can  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  appointment. 
He  was  the  only  German  colonial  official  I  ever  met  who  appeared  to  have 
anything  approaching  the  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  native  population 
under  him  which  one  expects  as  a  matter  of  course  in  the  Briton  or 
American  occupying  a  similar  position. 

Dr.  Solf's  later  record  will  be  readily  recalled.  Holding  one  or  an- 
other Cabinet  portfolios  during  all  of  the  war,  he  was  Foreign  Minister 
at  the  time  of  the  signing  of  the  Armistice.  At  the  present  moment  he  is 
being  prominently  mentioned  as  the  first  after-the-war  Ambassador  to 
Washington.  I  can  think  of  no  one  of  his  countrymen  so  likely  to  fill 
acceptably  what  at  best  must  be  an  incalculably  trying  post 

L.  R.  F. 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  257 

She  was  equipped  with  gasoline  engines  capable  of  driv- 
ing her  five  knots  an  hour  in  a  smooth  sea.  The  yacht 
took  her  name  from  Sir  Rupert's  famous  racer,  La 
Carabine,  winner  of  the  classic  Melbourne  Cup  of  a  year 
or  two  previously. 

The  Clarks  had  already  visited  several  ports  in  the 
Tongan  group,  and  from  Samoa  were  planning  to 
cruise  for  some  months  among  the  wild  and  little-known 
islands  of  the  New  H.ebrides,  Solomons  and  New  Brit- 
ain archipelagos.  In  many  of  these  islands  money  has 
no  value  whatever,  a  contingency  which  had  been  pro- 
vided against  by  stocking  a  barter  room  on  La  Carabine 
similar  to  those  of  the  regular  traders.  Here  were  car- 
ried prints,  knives,  guns,  jewelry,  tinned  meats  and  to- 
bacco, which  were  to  be  exchanged  for  pigs,  fish,  fowls 
and  curios.  Nor  was  the  matter  of  defence  neglected. 
Just  forward  of  the  house  a  swivel  had  been  set  in  the 
deck  and  the  installation  completed  to  greet  the  first 
"cutting-out"  party  with  a  hail  of  bullets  from  a  vicious- 
looking  little  Maxim  set  thereon.  The  gun  was  served 
by  an  old  man-of-war's  man  shipped  with  the  crew  for 
that  purpose.  We  never  heard  whether  or  not  occasion 
ever  arose  for  its  serious  use.  At  any  rate,  as  Clark 
put  it,  the  fact  that  so  many  labour  schooners  had  been 
attacked  recently  made  its  presence  "a  comfort  if  not  a 
necessity." 

A  number  of  very  pleasant  affairs  were  arranged  for 
the  joint  pleasure  of  the  two  yachting  parties,  espe- 
cially enjoyable  proving  picnics  at  Vailima  and  Papa- 
seea,  the  Sliding  Rock,  teas  on  several  of  the  large  plan- 
tations and  at  the  Consulates,  a  dinner  at  Government 
House,  and  a  couple  of  siva-sivas  at  Chief  Seamanu- 


258    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Tafu's.  The  latter  were  directed  by  the  chief's  daugh- 
ter, Vau,  the  taupo  of  Apia,  a  young  woman  of  fine  face 
and  figure  and  of  considerable  quickness  of  wit  as  well, 
if  the  manner  in  which  she  put  our  good  friend  Clark 
to  the  blush  one  afternoon  may  be  taken  as  a  criterion. 

Vau  and  her  handmaidens  were  off  to  tea  on  La  Cara- 
bine, preliminary  to  a  swimming  party  at  Papa-seea. 
Governor  Solf,  Dr.  Clarence  Fahnstock,  of  the  New 
York  Yacht  Club,  on  his  way  home  from  the  Tongas, 
and  a  couple  of  us  from  the  Lurline  were  also  present. 
The  talk  turned  to  the  reforms,  political,  economic  and 
industrial,  lately  instituted  in  New  Zealand.  Clark,  in 
expatiating  on  the  stringent  prohibition  laws  in  force 
in  that  colony,  made  the  statement  that  a  man  once  con- 
victed of  drunkenness  in  a  New  Zealand  hotel  forfeited 
his  right  to  register  at  any  other  hostelry  in  the  country. 
Upon  hearing  which  Vau  looked  up  from  the  fashion 
supplement  of  a  Sydney  illustrated  weekly  in  which  she 
had  been  engrossed  and,  with  just  enough  twinkle  in  her 
dark  eyes  to  belie  the  innocence  of  expression  that  sat 
upon  the  rest  of  her  face,  cooed  sweetly,  "So  you  have 
n'ow  to  stay  with  frens,  Sir  Ruper',  when  you  go  Nu- 
zelan?" 

And  Clark,  the  suave,  the  debonair,  the  cool-headed; 
Clark,  for  years  the  endlessly-angled-for  catch  of  two 
hemispheres;  Clark,  who  took  the  coveted  Melbourne 
Cup  without  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash,  blushed  and  stam- 
mered like  a  debutante  in  an  effort  to  explain.  Finally, 
judging  the  temper  of  the  company  unpropitious,  he 
gave  up  his  ill-advised  effort  to  save  his  reputation  and 
took  his  revenge  an  hour  later  by  pushing  Vau,  with 
all  her  finery,  over  the  brink  of  Papa-seea. 


MAID   OF   HONOUR    TO   THE    Tdllpo   OF   APIA 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  259 

The  London  Missionary  Society  steamer,  John  Wil- 
liams, came  in  and  lay  near  us  for  a  few  days  before 
we  left  Apia.  John  Williams  was  the  pioneer  mis- 
sionary of  the  famous  London  society  in  the  South  Pa- 
cific, and  since  his  death  in  the  early  years  of  the  last 
century  at  the  hands  of  New  Hebridean  natives  every 
ship  of  that  organization  has  borne  his  name.  For  more 
than  fifty  years  these  were  schooners,  and  as  each  was 
piled  up  on  a  reef  in  turn,  its  name,  with  the  number 
next  in  line  affixed,  was  passed  on  to  its  successor.  This 
continued  until  steamers  finally  supplanted  schooners, 
when  the  serial  system  of  nomenclature  was  dropped. 
The  present  John  Williams,  the  thirtieth  or  thereabouts, 
of  the  name,  is  a  Clyde-built  steamer  of  something  over 
3,000  tons.  It  has  unusually  graceful  lines  and  is  able 
to  do  better  than  sixteen  knots  an  hour  if  required.  Its 
principal  duties  are  the  provisioning  of  the  mission  sta- 
tions scattered  throughout  the  southwest  Pacific  and 
the  carrying  on  of  a  most  lucrative  trading  business 
which  the  Society — fighting  the  devil  with  fire — carries 
on  in  opposition  to  its  arch  enemies,  the  real  traders. 

John  Williams  proved  a  most  unsociable  craft,  sul- 
lenly refusing  to  meet  any  of  the  timidly  tentative  ad- 
vances of  either  of  the  visiting  yachts.  The  solemn, 
black-coated  figures  in  the  stern  sheets  of  its  boats  would 
pass  La  Carabine  and  Lurline  with  averted  eyes,  evi- 
dently classifying  us,  with  all  the  rest  of  the  whites,  as 
instruments  of  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil  sent  to 
demoralize  their  work  with  the  simple  native. 

Before  leaving  Apia  we  discharged  our  Chino- 
Malayan  cook,  Harrick  Siah,  whom  we  had  signed  on  at 
Honolulu,  shipping  in  his  place  one  Andrew  Clark,  a 


260    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Jamaican  mulatto.  Clark  had  married  a  Samoan  girl 
the  week  previously,  only  to  have  her  elope  the  next  day 
with  the  native  missionary  who  performed  the  ceremony, 
taking  with  her  the  accumulated  savings  of  the  unlucky 
cook's  last  year  of  voyaging.  Being  thus  cast  "on  the 
beach,"  as  they  put  it  in  the  South  Seas,  nothing  was  left 
for  him  but  to  ship  again.  Now  it  chanced  that  Siah, 
who  was  but  five  feet  two  in  height,  had  been  able  to 
walk  erect  in  the  galley's  five  feet  three  of  headroom, 
as  had  also  his  diminutive  Japanese  predecessor ;  Clark's 
five  feet  nine  required  something  more  than  six  inches 
of  reefing  to  swing  in  the  clear,  and  even  then  his  head 
ran  afoul  of  occasional  hooks  and  pipes  and  other  pro- 
jections. The  poor  fellow  stuck  manfully  to  his  job, 
but  within  a  fortnight  the  reef-points  of  his  neck  became 
so  firmly  tied  that,  even  after  he  had  been  an  hour  or  two 
ashore,  we  would  see  him  on  the  streets  or  in  the  market 
with  hunched  shoulders,  drawn-in  neck  and  a  furtive 
look  of  fear  in  his  shifting  eyes. 

On  June  13th  we  received  word  that  Chief  Mauga's 
flag-raising  at  Pago  Pago,  a  function  at  which  we  had 
promised  to  endeavour  to  be  present,  had  been  scheduled 
for  one  o'clock  of  the  15th,  in  order  that  the  officers  and 
men  of  the  Wheeling ,  which  was  to  sail  that  afternoon 
for  Bremerton,  might  participate.  This  necessitated 
our  leaving  on  the  14th,  just  as  we  were  getting  com- 
fortably settled  down  to  a  full  enjoyment  of  hospitable 
Apia.  A  whistling  east  wind  on  the  starboard  beam 
carried  us  out  of  the  passage  at  a  rattling  gait,  but  only 
to  come  squarely  ahead  as  we  trimmed  in  for  Tutuila. 
All  afternoon,  against  a  rising  wind  and  sea,  we  sailed 
in  short  tacks  up  the  coast  of  Upolou,  and  by  nine  p.  M., 


A  VISIT  TO  APIA  261 

with  double  reefs  in  mainsail  and  foresail,  just  man- 
aged to  clear  Albatross  Rock,  five  miles  east  of  the  wind- 
ward end  of  the  island. 

At  daybreak  Tutuila  showed  dimly,  a  point  forward 
of  the  port  beam.  Reefs  were  shaken  out  at  eight 
o'clock,  but  the  tiresome  beating  continued  until  we  had 
doubled  Sail  Rock  Point  at  one-thirty.  From  there 
we  made  fair  wind  of  it  down  the  coast  and  into  the  har- 
bour. When  the  anchor  was  let  go  at  four  o'clock 
Mauga's  "Stars  and  Stripes"  had  been  flapping  in  the 
breeze  for  close  to  three  hours,  and  the  Wheeling,  with  a 
300-foot  "  Homeward  Bound"  pennant  streaming  from 
her  main,  had  just  cast  off  her  mooring  lines  and  was 
backing  into  the  stream. 


CHAPTER  XV 

KAVA   AND   THE   SIVA 

THE  principal  difference  between  the  dance  in  Samoa 
and  in  the  other  island  groups  of  the  South  Pacific  is 
that  in  the  former  it  is  an  institution  and  in  the  latter — 
in  recent  times — an  incidental.  In  years  gone  by  the 
dance  was  an  integral  part  of  the  life  of  every  South  Sea 
people,  but  through  missionary  and  governmental  in- 
fluence it  has  practically  been  killed  everywhere  but  in 
the  Samoas.  That  the  missionary  alone  could  never 
have  accomplished  this  the  instance  of  these  islands 
shows,  for  while  the  missionary's  influence  is  no  less 
potent  there  than  in  a  number  of  other  groups,  the  dance 
has  survived  his  active  opposition  through  the  fact  that 
the  American  government  has  not  put  its  official  bans 
upon  it,  as  have  the  British  in  Fiji  and  the  French  in 
the  Societies  and  Marquesas.  The  siva  is  as  much  a 
part  of  Samoan  life  today  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  La 
Perouse  and  the  first  missionaries,  and  as  one  of  the 
few  unaltered  survivals  of  ancient  times  it  is  sincerely  to 
be  hoped  that  it  will  remain  so. 

As  I  have  pointed  out  in  writing  of  the  dance  in 
Tahiti,  it  is  only  on  the  rarest  of  occasions  that  one  may 
see  anything  approaching  the  "real"  hula  in  that  island, 
and  this  is  also  true  of  the  ancient  dances  of  Hawaii, 
the  Marquesas,  Tongas,  Fijis  and  all  of  the  other  South 
Sea  islands.  This  is  partly  due  to  their  having  been  re- 
pressed as  immoral,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that,  as  the 

262 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  263 

years  go  by,  there  are  fewer  and  fewer  natives  who  can 
perform  the  intricate  movements  of  the  old  dances.  In 
Samoa,  however,  there  is  no  evidence  of  the  decadence 
of  this  traditional  adjunct  of  native  expression,  though 
certain  of  the  grosser  features  of  the  siva  are  no  longer 
seen  except  in  out-of-the-way  interior  villages.  This  is 
just  as  well,  perhaps,  for  it  is  these  particular  features 
of  the  dance  that  have  brought  it  into  disrepute  in  other 
South  Sea  groups  and  ultimately  resulted  in  govern- 
mental interference.  It  is  these  so-called  indecent 
movements  of  the  siva  upon  which  the  Samoan  mission- 
aries have  based  their  opposition  to  their  dance,  and 
through  their  gradual  elimination  at  a  time  that  a  grad- 
ual broadening  of  the  missionary  mind  is  also  apparent, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  a  still  beautiful  and  uncommer- 
cialized  siva  may  yet  exist  peacefully  in  the  islands  by 
the  side  of  those  who  have  hitherto  steadfastly  endeav- 
oured to  extirpate  it  as  a  thing  accursed. 

The  interesting  thing  about  the  siva — and  this  is  also 
true  of  the  Samoan  himself — is  that  it  is  as  it  always  was. 
Certain  movements  may  not  be  danced  in  certain  vil- 
lages out  of  deference  to  the  feelings  of  the  missionary 
or  because  the  native  himself  has  modified  his  ideas 
respecting  their  propriety,  but,  by  and  large  through  the 
islands,  the  siva-siva  remains  as  it  has  ever  been,  per- 
haps the  most  beautiful  and  perfect  interpretative 
dance  given  to  the  world  by  any  race  in  history.  The 
visitor  who  is  entertained  by  a  chief  of  Tutuila,  Upolou 
or  Savaii  with  kava  drinking  and  a  siva-siva  may  know 
that  it  was  not  in  materially  different  fashion  that,  a 
century  and  a  quarter  ago,  the  Samoans  of  that  time  re- 
ceived the  officers  of  the  Astrolabe  and  Boussle  in  the 


264    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

great  round  of  feasting  which  preceded  the  unfortunate 
events  leading  up  to  the  tragedy  of  Massacre  Bay. 
The  public  offering  of  the  women  to  the  god-like  visitors 
on  this  occasion  was  a  thing  without  parallel,  perhaps, 
in  modern  history,  but  except  in  that  one  particular  the 
Samoan  kava  and  dancing  ceremonies  for  distinguished 
visitors  has  probably  undergone  no  change  whatever. 

It  is  impossible  to  write  of  the  siva  without  mention- 
ing kava,  and  as  the  drinking  of  this  almost  distinctively 
Samoan  beverage  is  an  invariable  prelude  to  every 
dance,  reception,  parley  or  any  native  gathering  of 
whatever  character,  it  may  be  in  order  here  to  tell  some- 
thing of  what  it  is  and  of  how  it  is  prepared  and  par- 
taken. 

The  kava  plant  belongs  to  the  pepper  family.  It  is 
bushy  in  appearance,  and  the  leaves,  dark  green  and 
heart-shaped,  are  about  the  size  of  one's  two  hands. 
The  stems  are  knotted  and  crooked,  with  joints  every 
two  or  three  inches.  The  plant  is  useful  only  between 
its  third  and  fifth  years,  the  wood  being  too  pulpy  be- 
fore that  time,  and  afterwards,  too  pithy  and  tasteless. 
Both  stems  and  root  are  used  in  the  preparation  of  the 
beverage,  these  being  cut  into  lengths  of  three  or  four 
inches  and  split  longitudinally  to  secure  even  drying  in 
the  sun.  Properly  prepared,  it  is  light  and  pithy  and 
of  a  whitish  colour. 

The  kava  plant  grows  in  nearly  every  island  of  the 
South  Pacific,  and  two  or  three  generations  ago  the 
beverage  from  it  was  in  universal  use  throughout  those 
latitudes.  Today  it  is  only  drunk  by  the  Samoans  and 
here  and  there  in  Fiji.  Why  it  should  have  fallen  into 
disuse  elsewhere  is  not  entirely  clear,  for  except  in  en- 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  265 

deavouring  to  discourage  the  preparation  of  the  root  by 
the  old  method  of  chewing,  neither  officials  nor  mission- 
aries have  actively  opposed  kava  drinking.  The  fact 
that  the  use  of  kava  has  ceased  most  completely  in  those 
groups  in  which,  like  the  Marquesas,  Societies  and 
Hawaiias,  the  natives  have  become  strongly  addicted  to 
the  use  of  alcoholic  stimulants,  either  of  their  own  or 
foreign  manufacture,  would  point  to  the  growing  use  of 
the  latter  as  the  probable  reason  for  the  loss  of  taste 
for  the  former.  Although  the  Fijian  native  is  far  from 
being  a  teetotaler,  the  unusual  power  of  the  missionary 
in  that  group  has  undoubtedly  prevented  him  from  giv- 
ing himself  up  to  the  toddy  habit  as  completely  as  have 
his  cousins  of  the  Marquesas  and  Societies.  The 
Samoan  drinks  less,  and  seems  to  care  less  for  alcoholic 
stimulants  than  any  other  South  Sea  native,  but  whether 
this  is  due  to  the  universal  use  of  kava,  or  whether  the 
universal  use  of  kava  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  toddy 
habit  has  never  attained  a  foothold  in  his  island,  would 
be  hard  to  say.  The  fact  remains  that  the  Samoan  is  a 
keen,  clean  liver,  and  that  his  kava,  if  it  has  not  been  an 
actual  factor  in  developing  his  splendid  physical  powers, 
at  least  has  been  responsible  for  nothing  comparable  to 
the  mental  and  moral  havoc  wrought  by  the  insidious 
toddy  in  the  other  islands. 

Although  the  Samoan  drinks  kav a  on  any  and  all  oc- 
casions that  he  can  get  some  one  to  make  it  for  him,  yet 
the  special  function  of  that  beverage  is  ceremonial.  It 
figures  in  all  formal  gatherings,  but  is,  perhaps,  most 
indispensable  to  the  reception  of  guests,  on  which  occa- 
sions the  prescribed  ceremonial  procedure  varies  no  whit 
in  the  houses  of  the  highest  and  the  lowest.  The  mo- 


266     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ment  the  visitors  to  a  native  house  are  seated,  the  guest 
of  highest  rank,  or  the  one  whom  it  is  desired  especially 
to  honour,  is  presented  with  three  or  four  pieces  of  dried 
kava.  These  he  perfunctorily  inspects,  pronounces 
prime,  and  tosses  to  the  taupo — the  official  virgin  of  the 
village  whose  duty  it  is  to  look  after  the  entertainment 
of  strangers — who  forthwith  commences  the  preparation 
of  the  drink.  It  is  at  this  point  in  the  original  kava 
ceremony  that  the  taupo  proceeded  to  masticate  the  bits 
of  root  and  stem  to  a  proper  consistency  to  be  dissolved 
in  water,  but  this  part  of  the  "recipe"  is  no  longer  fol- 
lowed amongst  the  enlightened  natives  of  the  coastal  vil- 
lages, to  whom  the  risks  of  spreading  infection  by  such 
a  practice  have  been  thoroughly  brought  home.  It  is 
customary  now  to  grind  the  root  to  a  powder  between 
two  flat  stones,  although  on  two  or  three  occasions  I 
have  seen  ordinary  perforated  graters  used.  When 
thoroughly  reduced,  the  pulverized  root  is  thrown  into 
the  kava  bowl  and  covered  with  cold  water  from  a  cala- 
bash which  is  held  re^dy  by  one  of  the  handmaidens. 

The  kava  bowl  is  an  important  factor  in  the  ceremony. 
It  is  hewn  from  a  single  piece  of  wood,  and  is  usually 
between  eighteen  inches  and  three  feet  in  diameter  and 
from  three  to  five  inches  deep.  It  preserves  its  equili- 
brium with  the  aid  of  a  periphery  of  legs  running 
around  the  outside,  these  varying  in  number  from  four 
on  a  small  bowl  belonging  to  a  person  of  no  especial 
consequence  to  ten  on  the  bowl  of  a  chief.  They  are 
made  on  the  island  of  Savaii,  there  being  no  trees  of  a 
suitable  nature  on  any  of  the  other  islands  of  the  group. 
Just  as  a  pipe  gathers  "colour"  from  smoking,  so  does  a 
kava  bowl  accumulate  a  rich  layer  of  golden  enamel 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  267 

through  frequent  use.  A  deeply  enameled  bowl,  on  ac- 
count of  the  traditions  associated  with  it,  is  almost  price- 
less. The  true  kava  bowl  is  severely  plain  and  unorna- 
mented;  a  carved  or  "beaded"  border  is  a  sure  sign  of 
manufacture  for  the  tourist  trade. 

When  there  is  sufficient  water  in  the  bowl  to  make 
enough  drink  for  all  present,  the  taupo  dips  in  with  both 
hands  and  begins  squeezing  the  ground  kava  through 
her  fingers  in  order  that  all  of  the  strength  will  pass 
into  solution.  This  operation  continues  until  the  float- 
ing particles  are  tasteless  when  dabbed  on  the  tip  of  the 
tongue  of  the  taupo,,  who  then  proceeds  with  the  strain- 
ing. This  is  accomplished  with  the  aid  of  a  sheaf  of 
fibre  from  the  inner  bark  of  the  hibiscus  tree,  called  a 
fan.  This  contrivance,  which  is  very  similar  in  form  to 
that  invaluable  aid-to-beauty  called  a  "switch,"  though 
somewhat  complicated  to  manipulate,  seems  to  accom- 
plish its  purpose  very  thoroughly.  The  fibres  are  swept 
around  the  surface  of  the  liquid  in  the  bowl  and  brought 
down  from  all  sides  at  once  to  a  bunch  at  the  deepest 
point,  where  it  is  folded  over  onto  itself  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  gather  and  hold  all  of  the  root  particles  with  which 
it  comes  in  contact.  After  the  liquid  is  squeezed  back 
into  the  bowl,  the  fan  is  passed  by  the  taupo  to  an  at- 
tendant who  shakes  out  the  fibre  with  a  single  quick  flirt 
under  a  raised  coco-leaf  curtain.  Three  or  four  repeti- 
tions of  this  operation  clear  the  liquid  in  the  bowl,  and 
after  giving  the  fau  a  final  shake — a  sinuous  spiral  swish 
above  her  head — the  taupo  casts  it  aside  and  informs 
the  host  that  the  kava  is  ready. 

Upon  this  announcement  the  host  passes  the  news  on 
to  the  guests  by  striking  the  palms  of  his  hands  together 


268     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

with  a  long  stiff -armed  swing.  This  is  at  once  taken 
up  by  every  one  in  the  house,  and  for  a  few  moments 
there  is  a  round  of  dignified  and  somewhat  perfunctory 
clapping.  Then  the  Tulafele  or  "Talking  Chief,"  who 
acts  as  a  sort  of  toast-master,  launches  into  a  flowery 
speech  extolling  the  virtues  of  the  guests,  which  he  con- 
cludes by  calling  for  an  epu  of  kava  for  the  visitor  first 
in  rank.  The  epu,  a  cup  made  of  the  half  of  a  coconut 
shell,  is  then  held  over  the  bowl  by  the  head  handmaiden, 
whose  duty  it  is  to  act  as  cup-bearer.  The  taupo  takes 
up  the  fan  with  another  flourish,  sops  it  into  the  kava 
and  squeezes  out  the  saturated  fibres  over  the  waiting 
epu.  Holding  this  head  high,  the  bearer  advances 
across  the  mats  to  the  personage  designated  by  the  tula- 
fele  and  puts  it,  with  a  scooping  gesture,  into  his  hand. 
As  the  proffered  cup  is  accepted,  she  steps  backward 
to  her  original  station  beside  the  taupo. 

The  guest,  on  receiving  the  kava,  bows  to  the  Chief 
and  other  dignitaries,  and,  with  the  word  "man'uia" — 
the  equivalent  of  "To  your  health" — drinks  it  at  a  single 
draught.  The  epu  is  then  returned  to  the  bearer  by 
spinning  it  across  the  mat  to  her  feet.  The  Tulafele 
now  calls  the  name  of  the  guest  next  in  rank,  and  the 
ceremony  is  repeated,  this  continuing  until  all  have  been 
served.  There  are  no  "second  helpings." 

The  genealogy  and  rank  of  all  Samoans  are  so  well 
known  that,  amongst  themselves,  there  is  no  question  in 
determining  the  order  of  precedence  in  drinking.  With 
foreigners  present,  however,  the  matter  of  rank  is  a 
complicated  one.  Unless  a  native  of  supreme  rank,  like 
Maatafa  of  Apia,  who  was  nearer  our  idea  of  a  king 
than  any  other  Samoan,  is  to  be  served,  it  is  customary 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  269 

to  offer  the  first  drink  of  kava  to  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  visitors,  the  next  to  the  highest  chief,  the  next  to 
the  second  most  important  visitor,  and  so  by  alternation. 
When  the  almost  sacred  Mataafa  was  present,  however, 
etiquette  required  that  he  be  served  first,  and  always 
from  his  own  special  epu,  out  of  which  no  other  was  ever 
allowed  to  drink. 

The  hitting  off  of  the  correct  order  of  foreign  visitors, 
especially  where  several  different  nationalities  are  pres- 
ent, is  a  trying  task  for  the  tulafale,  and,  except  on 
very  formal  occasions  where  inquiry  is  made  before- 
hand, many  amusing  "reversals"  occur.  Several  times, 
probably  because  I  happened  to  bulk  somewhat  more 
largely  against  the  sky-line — the  Samoan,  unless  he 
stops  to  think,  is  almost  sure  to  place  brawn  before  brain 
—I  was  presented  with  the  initial  epu  of  kava  in  advance 
of  the  Commodore,  and  at  one  informal  little  party  the 
both  of  us  were  passed  over  in  favour  of  our  gigantic 
bo'sun,  Gus,  who,  with  the  easy,  indolent  assurance  of 
the  Viking  from  whom  he  was  descended,  was  leaning 
against  the  post  of  the  house,  a  passive  spectator.  On 
this,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  however,  the  Commodore 
and  I  had  the  consolation  of  being  served  before  the 
Mater  and  Claribel.  The  Samoan  is  not  exactly  a  Turk 
in  the  matter  of  women,  but  he  takes  care  that  they 
never  stand  in  his  own  light. 

The  tulafale  never  calls  a  guest  by  his  name  in  desig- 
nating him  for  a  drink  of  kava,  but  by  some  euphemistic 
appellation  that  is  intended  to  be,  and  usually  is,  compli- 
mentary. The  Commodore  was  always  some  variation 
of  "The  Great  One  Who  Comes  in  His  Own  Ship." 
The  Mater  was  usually  something  akin  to  "The  Bright 


270    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

New  Moon  of  the  Great  One,"  but  once,  when  we 
brought  her  in  to  a  talolo  at  Apia  after  a  stormy  passage 
from  Tutuila,  she  displayed  so  much  individuality  as  to 
inspire  the  observant  tulafale  to  bestow  a  title  all  her 
own.  "Take  the  kava  to  'The  Beautiful  One  Who  is 
Sad  Because  of  the  Rocking  of  the  Boat,'  "  ordered  that 
autocrat  of  the  epu,  the  translation  of  which  so  tickled 
the  risibilities  of  the  ever-resilient  Mater  that  the  look 
of  sadness  passed  and  the  title  lost  its  point  forthwith. 
Claribel  drew  down  an  assorted  lot  of  titles,  among 
them  being  "The  Watchful  One,"  "The  White  Taupo" 
and,  one  day  when  she  was  wearing  her  pince  nez,  "The 
Four-Eyed  One." 

Whenever  the  Commodore  was  present — except  on 
the  two  or  three  occasions  when  they  mixed  us  up  and 
served  me  first — I  was  always  hailed  as  some  kind  of 
satellite  of  the  "Great  One."  When  appearing  inde- 
pendently I  was  served  under  a  number  of  nondescript 
titles,  the  most  notable  among  which  was  one  bestowed 
at  a  small  village  on  the  leeward  side  of  Tutuila  which  I 
visited  with  my  friend,  Judge  Gurr.  The  first  cup  on 
this  occasion  was  presented  to  the  Judge,  the  second  to 
the  village  chief,  and  as  the  third  was  filled  the  single 
magic  word,  "Tusitala!"  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  "Mas- 
ter of  Ceremonies." 

"A  cup  to  the  memory  of  the  beloved  Stevenson!" 
I  told  myself,  a  possible  explanation  of  which  flashed 
to  my  mind  with  the  dawning  recollection  that  the  vil- 
lage, Fauga-sa,  under  a  slightly  altered  name,  had  fig- 
ured as  the  scene  of  one  of  the  novelist's  best  stories. 
Athrill  with  interest,  I  waited  expectantly,  keen  on 
missing  no  detail  of  the  pretty  observance,  when,  lo! — 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  271 

the  brown  Hebe  of  the  kava  cup  came  mincing  across 
the  mat  and,  with  a  sweep  and  flourish  of  her  graceful 
arm,  held  the  epu  poised  in  front  of  my  vacantly  grin- 
ning face. 

"'What's  this  for?  Do  they  take  me  for  a  reincarna- 
tion of  Stevenson?"  I  cried  excitedly  to  the  Judge,  quite 
forgetting  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  what  the 
etiquette  of  the  occasion  demanded. 

"Drink  the  kava!"  he  admonished  in  an  anxious  un- 
dertone, not  a  little  embarrassed  by  so  flagrant  a  faucc 
pas  on  the  part  of  one  for  whom  he  was  standing  spon- 
sor; "I'll  explain  in  a  moment." 

I  drained  the  coco  shell  of  its  spicy  contents  at  a  gulp, 
twirled  it  back  to  the  taupo,  and,  as  the  latter  began 
filling  it  for  the  next  drink,  turned  inquiringly  to  my 
companion. 

"No,  they  didn't  confuse  you  with  Stevenson,"  said 
the  Judge  dryly.  "I  merely  explained  to  the  tulafale, 
when  he  asked,  that  you  were  a  scribbler  of  sorts,  and 
because  the  nearest  equivalent  to  that  in  the  Samoan 
language  is  a  'Teller  of  Tales,'  he  hailed  you  as  Tusitala 
when  your  turn  for  the  kava  arrived." 

Every  Samoan  child  begins  to  practise  some  of  the 
simpler  sivas  as  soon  as  it  is  old  enough  to  notice  what 
is  going  on  about  it,  and  although  only  the  taupos  and 
their  maids  are  schooled  in  the  more  intricate  movements 
of  the  dance,  the  girls  of  almost  any  household  can  fur- 
nish a  very  diverting  evening's  entertainment  on  a  mo- 
ment's notice.  For  these  to  refuse  to  dance  for  a 
stranger,  even  a  passing  wayfarer  who  has  dropped  in 
for  an  hour's  rest,  would  be  as  bad  as  refusing  him  a 


272     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

drink  of  kava,  and  that  is  unthinkable.  Kava  and  the 
siva  are  the  Samoans'  symbols  of  hospitality,  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest. 

The  beautiful  symmetry  of  development  which  char- 
acterizes all  Samoan  girls — and  especially  the  tempos- 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  their  only  exercises  are  dancing, 
walking,  swimming  and  paddling,  in  all  of  which  the 
muscles  are  used  in  long,  easy,  sweeping  movements. 
In  no  Samoan  dance  is  there  anything  comparable  to  the 
stiff -muscled  toe-work  and  the  frozen  posturing  of  the 
modern  French  ballet,  nor  yet  anything  similar  to  the 
frenzied  acrobatics  of  the  Russian.  There  is  abandon 
at  times — reeling,  rollicking,  riotous  abandon — but  the 
motion  of  it  flows  and  undulates  and  ripples  in  fluent 
rhythm  like  the  current  of  a  swift  but  unbroken  river 
rapid.  Who  has  not  seen  the  siva  has  not  realized  the 
full  meaning  of  the  expressions  "Poetry  of  Motion" 
and  "Enchantment  of  Gesture."  The  grace  of  it  is  so 
complete,  so  perfect,  so  satisfying,  that  one  cannot  but 
feel  that  the  Samoan,  having  failed  to  develop  the  arts 
of  painting  and  sculpture,  has  concentrated  all  of  his 
being  in  expressing  his  soul  through  his  body. 

The  siva  is  natural  because  it  expresses  things  that  are 
natural.  The  heave  of  the  sea,  the  rush  of  the  surf,  the 
rocking  of  a  canoe,  the  swaying  of  the  trees,  the  ripple  of 
a  stream,  the  movements  of  swimming  and  paddling  and 
the  ecstasies  of  love,  all  of  which  are  reflected  in  the 
siva,  are  things  of  the  dancers'  daily  life.  The  gyra- 
tions of  the  premiere  danseuse  on  the  tips  of  her  toes 
suggests  nothing  of  heaven  or  earth,  but  because  the 
Samoan  has  taken  his  inspiration  from  himself  and  his 
surroundings,  his  dances  are  beautiful  and  normal. 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  273 

And  as  the  dance,  so  the  dancer.  Because  the  move- 
ments of  the  siva  are  natural,  the  body  of  the  taupo  is 
natural.  She  is  one  fluent  ripple  of  lithe  flexibility  from 
toe-tip  to  finger-tip,  with  no  suggestions  of  the  knotted 
muscles  which  disfigure  the  back  and  legs  of  a  ballet 
dancer. 

On  the  occasion  of  great  feasts  or  celebrations,  where 
large  crowds  are  present,  it  is  customary  to  dance  the 
siva  out-of-doors  and  in  the  daytime.  The  performers 
at  such  times  are  usually  numerous  and  as  spectacles  the 
dances  are,  perhaps,  more  striking  than  the  in-door 
sivas.  This  does  not  compensate,  however,  for  the  fact 
that  most  of  the  seductive  charm  of  movement  is  lost 
in  the  glare  of  the  sunlight,  for  what  in  the  flickering 
torch  or  lamp -light  is  subtle  allurement,  in  the  daytime 
becomes  bald  suggestion.  To  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
siva,  then,  one  should  see  it  by  torchlight  or  moonlight, 
or  in  a  blending  of  them  both. 

On  formal  occasions  the  siva  is  danced  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  kava  ceremony.  At  these  times  there  is  usu- 
ally a  battery  of  deep-toned  wooden  drums  provided, 
and  to  the  pulsing  throb  of  these  and  the  sounding  slaps 
of  open  palms  upon  bare  thighs,  the  siva  begins.  The 
opening  number  is  almost  invariably  a  "sitting-down" 
dance,  which  is  led  by  the  taupo  with  a  flanking  of  three 
or  four  of  her  maids  on  either  side.  For  the  first  few 
moments  it  strikes  you  only  as  queer,  the  odd  posturing 
of  the  garlanded,  cross-legged  figures,  with  their  weav- 
ings  and  inter-weavings  of  arms  and  the  rhythmic  writh- 
ings  of  the  glistening  brown  bodies.  But  presently  it 
is  as  though  the  pulse  of  your  being  is  beginning  to  beat 
to  the  throb  of  the  drumming,  and  there  comes  a  feeling 


274     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  having  breathed  the  seductive  atmosphere  of  oil- 
steeped  gardenia  blossoms  since  the  dawn  of  time.  Un- 
consciously your  hands  begin  striking  upon  your  not 
unresponsive  duck-clad  thighs  in  unison  with  the  blows 
of  your  neighbours,  instinctively  you  try  to  blend  your 
tremulous  hum  with  their  chesty  chanting,  and  presently 
you  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  siva,  and  begin  to  yield 
yourself  to,  then  to  delight  in,  and  finally  to  exult  in 
its  subtle  seductions. 

Then  you  realize  that  every  muscle,  every  fibre,  every 
nerve,  every  drop  of  blood  in  the  gleaming  red-bronze 
figure  in  the  penumbra  of  the  lamp  glow  is  dancing. 
Then  you  know  that  the  pirouette  of  that  shapely  chorus 
lady  who  entranced  you  so  that  last  night  at  the  Winter 
Garden  was  only  a  kick,  a  thrusting  out  of  a  snugly- 
stockinged,  well-turned  calf.  But  here  where  a  member 
is  moved  it  is  dancing  on  its  own  account  as  it  goes ;  there 
is  motion  within  motion,  and  still  more  motion  within 
that  motion.  Those  gently  swaying  knees  are  only 
beating  time  to  the  throb  of  the  drums,  but  in  that  rip- 
pling run  of  plastic  muscles  beneath  the  glistening  skin 
there  is  a  message  that  not  the  sprightliest  and  plumpest 
of  Broadway  favourites  could  kick  across  the  foot-lights 
in  a  whole  evening. 

But  the  "sitting"  sivas  are  essentially  dances  of  the 
arms;  and  never  were  seen  such  arms  as  in  Samoa. 
Plump  without  being  fat,  muscled  without  being  muscu- 
lar, all  contour,  softness  and  dimples,  no  fitter  or  fairer 
instruments  of  physical  expression  were  ever  fashioned. 
The  taupo  takes  the  lead  and  her  motions  are  followed 
by  the  others  as  though  reflected  in  mirrors.  Now  the 
arms  are  fluttering  out  to  one  side  like  twin  streamers 


"NEVER  WERE  SEEN  SUCH  ARMS  AS  IN  SAMOA" 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  275 

whipping  in  the  wind,  now  they  are  pressed  close  to- 
gether along  the  side  as  though  wielding  a  paddle,  now 
they  are  upraised  as  in  supplication,  now  opened  in  in- 
vitation, now  thrown  out  in  rebuff.  The  firmly- 
moulded  breasts  twinkle  out  and  disappear  again  behind 
the  swishing  flower  garlands  and  the  froth  of  flying 
arms. 

The  lamp  glow  flashes  on  the  glistening  undu- 
lant  bodies,  high-light  and  shadow  playing  hide-and- 
seek  in  the  dimples  of  cheek  and  shoulder  and  bosom 
as  they  bend  and  sway  to  the  drone  of  the  drums.  Swift 
lances  of  light  dart  across  thigh  and  shoulder,  fluttering 
pennons  of  light  streak  down  the  tremulous  arms,  corus- 
cant  streamers  of  light  shimmer  along  the  lacquered 
leaves  of  the  garlands.  It  is  a  poem  of  light  and  motion, 
the  incarnation  of  a  transcript  from  a  volume  of  ancient 
verse. 

Describe  the  siva!  Not  till  I've  proved  my  right  to 
attempt  it  by  painting  the  lily  and  gilding  refined  gold. 
It  is  a  perfect  thing  of  its  kind,  and  that  is  enough  to 
know. 

So  far  as  I  know  the  Samoans  do  not  attempt  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  mimetic  dances  on  the  elaborate  scale 
of  those  I  have  described  as  "staged"  in  the  ancient 
crater  in  Tahiti.  They  do,  however,  have  dances  de- 
scriptive of  harvesting  coconuts,  canoe  races  and  swim- 
ming, while  "duel"  dances,  in  which  the  performers  go 
through  the  motions  of  combat  with  native  war  knives, 
are  features  of  nearly  every  siva.  The  Samoan  is  no 
less  ready  than  the  Tahitian  to  take  advantage  of  the 
theatric  effects  at  his  disposal,  and  in  the  "standing" 
dances  no  taupo  ever  fails  to  make  the  most  of  the  allure- 


276    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ment  of  flitting  in  and  out  of  patches  of  moonlight  or 
torchlight  and  piquing  the  interest  of  the  audience  by 
pretending  to  reveal  more  of  her  charms  when  sheltered 
by  the  translucent  curtain  of  the  shadows. 

My  one  most  haunting  memory  of  South  Sea  dancing 
is  of  the  "swimming"  siva  as  performed  by  a  tantalizing 
minx  of  a  taupo  in  the  ghostly  half-light  of  a  grotto  on 
the  leeward  shore  of  Tutuila.  With  a  single  native 
boy  to  act  as  guide  and  interpreter,  I  was  proceeding 
by  canoe  and  on  foot  from  Judge  Gurr's  plantation  at 
Mala-toa  to  Leone,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  island,  to 
witness  a  game  of  native  cricket.  Wet,  cramped  and 
tired  from  three  hours  of  steady  bailing  with  my  camera 
case  in  a  dilapidated  "outrigger"  which  had  threatened  to 
disintegrate  at  every  lurch,  we  landed  late  in  the  after- 
noon at  a  tiny  hamlet  near  the  west  end  of  the  island 
and  sought  the  Chief's  house  for  rest  and  refreshment. 
Adept  in  the  art  of  reviving  flagging  warriors,  an  elderly 
dame — the  duenna  of  the  taupo — took  my  tired  head  in 
her  motherly  lap  after  the  native  custom,  made  a  few 
passes  along  neck  and  shoulder  muscles  with  her  soft 
magnetic  fingers,  and  I  dropped  off  into  a  deep  sleep 
which  was  not  broken  till  a  round  of  clapping  announced 
that  kav a  was  ready.  I  had  heard  of  the  magic  of  loma- 
loma  in  Hawaii,  but  this  was  my  first  opportunity  to 
verify  the  claim  that  an  hour  of  sleep  induced  by  it  was 
equal  to  an  ordinary  night's  rest. 

Feeling  refreshed  and  fit  but  still  drowsy,  I  called  to 
Tofa  to  put  my  things  together  and  get  ready  to  take 
the  road  to  Leone  as  soon  as  the  kava  drinking  was  over, 
hoping  by  a  prompt  start  to  avoid  being  caught  in  the 
bush  after  nightfall.  The  boy  heard,  but  did  not  move 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  277 

from  his  Buddha-like  pose  against  the  rose-violet  flare 
of  the  sunset. 

"Fanua  say  that  she  will  make  swimmin'  siva-siva  on 
beach  by'n'by  if  you  stop  tonight,"  he  remarked  incon- 
sequentially, with  his  eyes  fixed  dreamily  where  the  dis- 
tant peaks  of  Upolou  were  thinning  in  the  evening  haze. 
"Fanua  ver'  fine  gal." 

"Who's  Fanua?"  I  queried  sleepily,  beginning  to 
drowse  again  as  the  magic  fingers  renewed  their  caress- 
ing pressure  on  my  brow. 

"Fanua  taupo  this  villige.  Ver'  fine  gal,"  Tofa  re- 
plied, with  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  lurking  at  the  cor- 
ners of  his  handsome  month. 

My  sleepy  gaze  wandered  across  to  the  mistress  of  the 
kava  bowl.  Surely  that  was  not  a  "ver'  fine  gal,"  I  told 
myself.  I  blinked  and  looked  again.  She  was  middle- 
aged  and  fat.  Then  I  rubbed  my  eyes  hard  and  tried 
to  recall  where  I  had  seen  that  broad,  good-natured  face 
before.  Ah — the  duenna  whose  lap  held  my  head  when 
I  dropped  off  to  sleep !  But  how  could  that  be  when  her 
lap  was  still  under  my  head  and  her  fingers  stroking  my 
temples?  Perhaps  she  had  a  twin.  I  gave  my  eyes 
a  final  dig  and  turned  them  upwards.  A  lady's  lap  is 
not  the  point  of  vantage  that  a  connoisseur  would  choose 
from  which  to  get  the  most  favourable  view  of  her  face, 
but — yes,  Tofa  undoubtedly  was  right.  Fanua  was  cer- 
tainly a  "ver'  fine  gal,"  quite  the  finest  I  had  seen  in  all 
these  "Isles  of  Fair  Women." 

"We  will  start  for  Leone  at  sunrise,"  I  directed  Tofa, 
and  sat  up  and  emptied  the  proffered  kava  cup  accord- 
ing to  the  dictates  of  Samoan  etiquette. 

It  seems  that  the  duty  of  loma-loma-mg  the  brows  of 


278    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

tired  wayfarers  is  a  duty  of  the  taupo  which  takes 
precedence  even  of  /bafta-making,  so  that  on  the  arrival 
of  the  hastily-summoned  Fanua — I  being  then  asleep — 
the  transfer  of  laps  was  made,  the  duenna  substituting 
as  drink-mixer. 

We  pooled  the  contents  of  my  knapsack  and  the 
chiefly  larder  and  dined  sumptuously  on  canned  salmon, 
bresidfYuit-pate-de-foie-gras  sandwiches,  boiled  taro, 
shrimps  and  bananas.  This  over,  we  smoked  cigarettes 
— mine,  all  of  a  three-day  supply — and  when  darkness 
had  fallen,  guided  by  a  hunchback  with  a  torch,  set  out 
for  the  dancing  place  by  the  sea.  We  did  not  stop  on 
the  smooth  crescent  of  beach,  as  I  had  anticipated,  but 
continued  along  to  where  it  joined  a  cliffy  promontory 
and  gave  way  to  a  jumble  of  crags  and  rocks,  against 
which  dashed  the  full  force  of  a  tumultuous  surf. 

The  night  was  starry  but  moonless.  By  the  light  of 
the  sputtering  candle-nut  brand  in  the  hand  of  the  dwarf 
and  an  occasional  spurt  of  phosphorescence  from  a  shat- 
tering wave,  we  followed  the  well-worn  path  up  among 
the  crags  to  where  it  seemed  to  come  to  an  end  at  an 
opening  in  the  rock  scarcely  larger  than  the  man-hole 
of  an  underground  conduit.  The  hollow  mutter  of  the 
sea  welled  up  from  the  cavernous  depths,  but  without 
pausing  the  hunchback  dropped  confidently  in,  shower- 
ing his  knotted  bronze  shoulders  with  sparks  in  the  quick 
descent.  Just  long  enough  for  me  to  clamber  down 
beside  him  he  held  the  torch,  then  sent  it  spinning, 
trailed  by  a  comet-like  wake  of  embers,  over  a  ledge  to 
be  doused  in  the  water  which  plashed  below.  In  Sty- 
gian darkness,  I  was  listening  to  the  soft  thuds  of  the 
feet  of  my  companions  as,  one  by  one,  they  dropped 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  279 

down  from  above,  when  suddenly  there  came  a  crash 
against  the  seaward  side  of  the  grotto,  a  swirling  rush 
of  phosphorescent  water  rushed  in  and,  against  the  flut- 
tering waves  of  blue-green  light  that  played  upon  the 
rocky  walls,  appeared  the  lithe  brown  body  of  Fanua 
weaving  in  the  undulating  sinuosities  of  the  "swimming" 
siva. 

I  had  just  time  to  note  that  the  lovely  little  taupo, 
unadorned  by  official  head-dress  or  garlands,  was  danc- 
ing only  in  a  scant  lava-lava  of  tappa  which  encircled 
her  waist  in  a  precarious  fringe,  when  the  light  died 
down  and  the  swimming  siva  became  for  the  moment  a 
dusky  silhouette  against  the  jagged  patch  of  star- 
studded  purple  which  marked  the  seaward  opening  of 
the  grotto.  Then  a  soft  hand  sought  mine  and  I  was 
led  through  the  darkness  to  where  a  thick  stack  of 
smooth  mats  had  been  piled,  upon  which  the  members 
of  our  little  party  were  beginning  to  settle  at  their  ease. 
As  I  lounged  back  luxuriously  upon  the  springy  panda- 
nus,  Tofa  came  wriggling  in  on  one  side  to  "make  talk" 
for  me,  as  he  explained,  while  on  the  other  gentle  fingers 
— the  mates  of  the  guiding  ones  that  still  held  my  right 
hand  in  their  unrelinquishing  clasp — patted  my  cheek 
to  soft  and  iterated  murmurs  of  ffalofa  oi"  "I  like  you." 

"Tell  the  young  lady  on  my  right,"  I  began  to  Tofa — 
and  then,  all  unheralded,  the  wonder  befell. 

Fanua  was  still  swimming  in  graceful  pantomime 
across  the  purple  star-patch,  when  a  crash  louder  than 
the  previous  one  sounded  against  the  outer  wall  and  the 
mouth  of  the  opening  was  blotted  by  the  advancing 
wave.  Again  came  the  flutters  of  tremulous  light  upon 
the  dark  walls,  quickly  to  be  followed  by  a  deep-mouthed 


280     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

gurgling  growl  from  immediately  beneath  the  ledge  on 
which  we  reclined.  Then  there  was  a  quick  rush  of 
damp  air  in  the  grotto,  and,  with  a  great  "whouf !"  a 
bright  fountain  of  phosphorescent  spray  was  projected 
from  a  small  hole  in  the  rocky  floor  immediately  in  front 
of  the  swaying  taupo. 

Evidently  this  phenomenon,  which  occurred  only  with 
the  largest  waves,  had  been  awaited  by  both  audience 
and  dancer.  Rhythmic  smiting  of  thighs  began  as  the 
growls  broke  out  below,  and  to  this,  and  the  beating 
of  a  drum  improvised  from  a  rolled  mat,  Fanua  leapt 
into  the  jet  of  spouting  golden  mist  and,  for  the  four 
or  five  seconds  during  which  it  played,  lashed  out  in  that 
climacteric  movement  of  the  swimming  siva  in  which  the 
dancer  is  supposed  to  be  riding  the  crest  of  a  rushing 
comber.  Flailing  arms  and  flying  hair  represented  the 
eddying  foam,  while  quick,  jerking  forward  movements 
of  the  shoulders  gave  the  suggestion  of  impulse  to  a 
body  that  never  moved  from  the  heart  of  the  floating 
cloud  of  luminous  mist.  One  supreme  flutter  of  tremu- 
lous movement,  rippling  up  from  the  toes  and  running 
out  at  the  finger  tips  as  a  series  of  waves  of  motion  pulse 
down  a  shaken  rope,  told  that  the  swimmer  had  slid  from 
her  wave-crest  to  the  waters  of  the  still  lagoon.  The 
jet  died  down  as  the  pressure  from  below  was  released 
by  the  receding  wave,  but  the  swaying  body,  lined  with 
glittering  runlets  of  pale  phosphorescence,  continued  to 
vibrate  in  silhouette  across  the  star-gleams  shot  from 
the  patch  of  heavens  beyond  the  grotto's  seaward  mouth. 

The  jet  of  spray  was  due  to  the  presence  of  a  "blow- 
hole" in  the  grotto.  Under  the  ledge  which  we  occu- 
pied was  another  cave — a  cavern  within  a  cavern — and 


' 


^i^S^ife! 


FANUA,  WHO  DANCED  THE  SWIMMING  Swa  BY  THE  LIGHT  OF 

THE    PHOSPHORESCENT    WAVES 


DANCER  WITH  HEAD  KNIFE 


KAVA  AND  THE  SIVA  281 

when  the  latter  was  filled  by  the  wash  from  a  wave  the 
compressed  air  forced  a  jet  of  spume  up  through  the 
small  vent  opening  into  the  main  grotto.  The  unusual 
brightness  of  the  luminous  fountain  was  due,  doubtless, 
partly  to  the  darkness  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  a  heavy 
scum  of  phosphorescence  had  accumuated  in  the  lower 
cavern. 

Fanua  reeled  on  through  some  of  the  quieter  move- 
ments of  the  swimming  siva  in  the  weird  blue-green  glow 
of  the  half-dozen  waves  that  came  before  another  one 
big  enough  to  start  the  "blow-hole"  spouting  arrived 
again.  As  the  latter  gave  its  premonitory  growl,  the 
shadow  of  a  second  figure  appeared  beside  her  and  Tof  a 
announced  that  "Fanua  now  dance  'Shark-he-chase-her' 


siva-siva" 


Into  the  jet  of  golden  mist  launched  "shark"  and 
"swimmer"  as  the  fountain  began  to  play,  weaving 
about  each  other  in  the  movements  of  flight  and  pursuit. 
The  "shark"  darted  and  dashed  and  strove  to  seize,  and 
the  "swimmer"  ducked  and  doubled  and  eluded,  all 
within  the  circle  of  the  drifting  particles  of  glowing 
spray.  Under,  over  and  around  each  other  they  floated 
like  frightened  gold-fish  in  a  globe,  arms,  legs  and  bodies 
weaving  evanescent  webs  of  shimmering  brightness  but 
never  seeming  to  touch.  Till  the  last  luminous  puff 
from  the  "blow-hole"  they  danced  thus,  and  then,  as  the 
flickering  jet  died  low,  there  came  a  ringing  shriek,  the 
lambent  light  streaks  of  the  reeling  bodies  seemed  to 
meet  and  mingle,  and — whether  by  accident  or  intent  I 
could  not  tell — went  plunging  over  the  ledge  into  the 
receding  welter  of  light  below. 

My  gasp  of  consternation  was  not  echoed  by  the  rest 


282     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

of  the  company.  Most  of  them  were  laughing  and 
chattering  as  though  the  "plunge  to  the  depths"  was  the 
regular  finale,  and  Tofa  seemed  to  think  that  his  laconic 
comment  of  "He  shark  he  take  her,"  was  all  that  the  oc- 
casion called  for.  And  so  it  proved.  Before  another 
jet  had  spouted  there  came  two  soft  thuds  on  the  floor 
of  the  ledge,  while  a  ripple  of  silvery  laughter  and  a 
shower  of  dewy  drops  from  a  couple  of  vigorously 
shaken  heads  told  that  "shark"  and  "swimmer,"  having 
circled  around  through  the  surf  to  the  beach  and  dropped 
down  to  the  grotto  through  the  back  entrance,  were 
waiting  for  the  cavernous  growl  from  beneath  to  sound 
the  cue  for  the  next  number. 

As  in  its  sister  dance,  the  hula,  there  always  comes  a 
stage  in  the  siva  which  is  not  subject  to  the  restraining 
influence  of  the  presence  of  dignitaries,  where  even  im- 
pressionistic description  must  cease,  so  on  this  occasion 
I  have  deemed  it  meet  that  the  "dead-line"  should  be 
drawn  at  the  finale  of  the  "Shark-he-chase-her"  number. 
I  trust  I  have  recorded  enough,  however,  to  make  it 
clear  that  Tofa's  suggestion  to  stay  over  and  see  that 
"ver'  fine  gal,"  Fanua,  dance  the  swimming  siva  was 
not  an  unwarranted  one. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PAGO    PAGO   TO   SUVA 

WE  sailed  from  Pago  Pago  for  Fiji  on  the  afternoon 
of  June  18th.  Just  as  the  anchor  had  been  catted  and 
the  yacht  was  filling  away  on  her  first  tack  a  madly 
paddled  canoe  shot  alongside  and  a  letter  was  thrown 
aboard.  It  was  addressed  only  to  the  "Yotta,"  no  indi- 
vidual being  specified,  and  ran  as  follows: 

"Talofa.  My  love  to  you.  Please  send  me  one  bi- 
cycle" 

It  was  signed  by  one  of  the  handmaidens  of  Seuka, 
the  taupo  of  Pago  Pago.  For  a  simple,  direct  appeal 
this  struck  me  as  coming  pretty  near  the  record,  and 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  relate  that,  six  months  later,  it  met 
with  a  deserved  reward.  There  are  several  ways  to 
reach  it,  but  no  smoother  road  to  the  South  Sea  maiden's 
heart  than  the  "bicycle  path." 

As  we  stood  in  past  the  Adams  a  crowd  of  our  native 
friends  on  the  dock  began  singing  the  plaintive  half 
Samoan,  half  English  farewell  song,  "Tuta-pai,  mai 
•felew" — ("Good-bye,  my  Friend)  and  the  oft  repeated 
refrain,  "O  Ai  neppa  will  fa-get  you,"  followed  us  till 
the  yacht  passed  out  of  hearing  around  the  point.  The 
kindliest,  handsomest  and  most  amiable  people  in  all  the 
South  Pacific,  these  Samoans. 

It  was  our  hope  to  put  up  a  new  record  for  the  Samoa- 

283 


284     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Fiji  run,  as  we  had  done  for  that  from  the  Marquesas 
to  Tahiti,  but  the  flukiness  of  the  wind,  which  became 
apparent  as  soon  as  we  were  clear  of  the  harbour,  held 
out  little  promise  of  success.  The  air  was  abnormally 
clear  and  the  sky,  unusually  deep  and  rich  in  colour, 
hardly  flecked  by  a  cloud.  The  sea,  owing  to  the  veer- 
ing tendency  of  the  wind,  was  light  and  even.  The  wind 
was  blowing  fitfully  from  its  regular  quarter,  E.S.E., 
when  we  came  out  in  the  early  afternoon,  but  shortly  be- 
gan coming  in  puffs  from  due  east.  Then  it  blew 
slightly  more  southerly  for  a  half  hour,  before  hauling 
up  to  E.N.E.,  and  so  all  afternoon,  as  a  tide  creeps  foot 
by  foot  up  a  beach,  it  kept  chopping  around  to  the 
north.  By  dark  it  had  worked  on  to  N.N.W.,  and  was 
blowing,  not  steadily,  but  in  jerky  puffs  of  ominous 
import. 

The  sunset  that  evening  was  a  sinister  thing  of  red 
and  black.  The  sun,  glowing  like  a  huge  coal,  dropped 
down  behind  the  southwest  end  of  Tutuila  just  as  the 
veering  wind  drove  up  a  bank  of  sooty  clouds  from  the 
lee  of  the  island  and  began  blowing  it  to  pieces.  The 
clouds  tore  up  into  inky  strips,  darkly  opaque,  like  the 
bars  of  a  grate,  and  between  the  bars,  sullenly,  murkily, 
hotly  red,  the  unobscured  sky  glowed  like  the  inside  of  a 
furnace.  For  the  space  of  a  minute,  or  two,  or  three, 
this  held,  with  its  magnified  reflection  upon  the  indo- 
lently heaving  sea  showing  in  alternate  welts  of  glim- 
mering purple  and  sang  du  boeuf;  then  a  new  flight  of 
cloud  hove  up  from  the  lee  of  the  island  and,  as  a  closed 
door  quenches  the  light  of  a  furnace,  hid  the  fire  of  the 
west  behind  its  impenetrable  pall.  The  mate  character- 
ized it  politely  to  the  ladies  as  an  "angry  sunset,"  and 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  285 

then  went  forward  and  alluded  to  it  in  mixed  but  force- 
ful metaphor  as  "bloody  murder  swingin'  on  the  hinges 
o'  hell." 

An  insufferably  hot  and  stuffy  night  gave  way  to  an 
equally  unpleasant  day.  The  sea  was  oily  smooth,  the 
sky  overcast  with  a  dull,  translucent  film  of  cloud,  and 
the  sun,  heavily  ringed,  grew  increasingly  dimmer  as  the 
greyness  thickened  overhead.  The  run  to  noon  from 
three  P.  M.  of  the  18th  was  an  even  hundred  miles. 

The  wind,  still  from  the  northwest,  increased  steadily 
as  the  afternoon  lengthened,  the  yacht,  under  all-plain 
sail,  driving  along  at  close  to  nine  knots  an  hour. 
About  four  o'clock,  while  still  making  fast  time,  she 
struck  a  large  floating  log — apparently  a  bread-fruit 
trunk — which  gouged  a  long  gash  on  her  starboard  side 
as  she  sped  past  it.  The  blow  was  a  glancing  one  and 
nothing  but  the  paint  was  damaged,  though  the  conse- 
quences might  have  been  really  serious  had  the  point  of 
impact  been  twenty  feet  farther  forward. 

The  sun  went  out  behind  a  horizon  of  dull,  black  mud, 
and  through  the  greasy  dusk  that  was  settling  over  the 
sea  the  wind  came  pouring  out  of  the  west  with  con- 
stantly accelerating  force.  Overhead,  the  clouds — 
mostly  detached  blotches  of  cumulo-nimbus — surged 
about  in  seeming  aimlessness,  those  of  the  lower  air 
scurrying  away  before  the  northwest  wind  that  drove  the 
yacht  along,  while,  a  couple  of  thousand  feet  or  so 
higher,  a  counter  current  of  great  force  from  the  south- 
west was  ripping  to  pieces  the  vaporous  masses  of  the 
upper  heavens  and  stringing  them  out  in  long  lines  like 
the  wake  of  a  fleet  of  ferryboats.  In  the  intermediate 
levels  stray  mavericks  of  cloud  were  pivoting  about  like 


286     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

prairie  cattle  milling  in  a  blizzard.  The  sea,  owing  to 
the  tendency  of  the  wind  to  continue  hauling  westerly, 
was  not  running  heavily  as  yet,  but  a  barometer  at  29.70 
— 24  points  drop  in  27  hours — and  the  ominous  aspect 
of  the  heavens  gave  fair  warning  that  it  was  not  the  ex- 
plosive broadside  of  a  passing  squall  that  was  to  be 
encountered  this  time,  but  the  sustained  bombardment 
of  a  real  storm. 

We  were  still  a  couple  of  months  away  from  the  so- 
called  hurricane  season,  but  hurricanes — like  nuggets 
in  the  prospector's  proverb — are  where  you  find  them, 
and  it  was  on  record  that  they  had  occurred  in  the  south- 
west Pacific  every  month  of  the  year.  At  any  rate,  the 
time  for  preparation  for  weather  of  some  kind  was 
plainly  at  hand,  beginning  with  an  immediate  and  expe- 
ditious shortening  of  canvas.  No  halfway  measures  to 
tide  over  a  few  hours'  blow  were  resorted  to.  The 
maintopmast  staysail  was  taken  in  and  the  lower  sail  re- 
duced to  double-reefed  foresail,  triple-reefed  mainsail 
and  reefed  and  unbonneted  forestay-sail.  Extra  lash- 
ings were  thrown  on  boats,  water-butts,  spars  and  other 
movables,  and  the  skylights  were  closed  and  battened 
with  planks  to  protect  from  waves  that  might  break  in- 
board. 

Things  were  snugged  up  just  in  time,  for  at  eight 
o'clock,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  tenth  more  drop  in 
the  barometer,  the  storm  broke  fiercely  in  a  heavy  squall 
of  rain;  the  next  thirty-six  hours  were  crowded  full  of 
education  in  the  ways  of  a  South  Pacific  gale.  The 
after  leach  of  the  foresail  carried  away  at  nine  o'clock 
and  for  some  minutes  the  flogging  canvas  played  a 
lively  game  of  crack-the-whip  with  the  sailors  who  were 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  287 

trying  to  smother  it.  Soon  the  effect  of  the  wind  began 
to  show  upon  the  sea,  and  all  through  the  night  the  in- 
creasing force  of  the  staggering  blows  upon  the  weather 
bow  and  the  Maxim-like  rattle  of  driven  spray  upon 
the  sails  told  of  steadily  mounting  waves.  Rain  kept 
pouring  in  heavy  squalls,  the  fierce  blasts  serving  to  beat 
flat  for  brief  spaces  the  rising  swells,  but  only  to  release 
them  to  more  furious  onslaughts  the  moment  the  com- 
pressed-air buffers  of  the  wind  rolled  on  ahead. 

At  midnight  the  barometer  was  down  to  28.50,  after 
reading  which  the  mate  came  on  deck  complaining  that 
some  one  had  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  it.  The  yacht 
was  behaving  splendidly,  and,  except  for  the  threat  in 
the  rapid  falling  of  the  barometer,  our  only  serious 
worry  was  on  account  of  the  uncomfortable  proximity 
of  the  extensive  Curacao  Reef  and  Shoals.  We  were 
chopping  along  on  a  W.S.W.  course,  which,  allowing 
for  a  reasonable  leeway,  we  reckoned  would  carry  us  a 
good  ten  miles  to  the  windward  of  the  danger  point. 
Nevertheless,  remembering  our  experience  with  Belling- 
hausen  Island,  a  sharp  watch  was  kept  to  leeward  until 
morning. 

Daylight  broke  from  the  southeast  through  an  infer- 
nal cloud-shoal  of  copper  and  sulphur  and  tallow  and 
olive  upon  a  desolation  of  wallowing  snow-capped  moun- 
tain peaks.  The  wind,  which  the  previous  afternoon 
had  been  blowing  with  a  force  of  less  than  "5"  in  the 
Beaufort  Scale,  had  held  from  the  same  quarter  all  night 
and  was  now  hurtling  down  on  us  at  near  "9."  Seas, 
confounding  in  height,  steep  and  sharp-crested,  with 
hollow  green  sides  and  black,  swollen  bases,  came  charg- 
ing down  from  the  west  in  broken-ranked  stampede. 


288     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

The  yacht,  under  the  scanty  canvas  still  on  her,  was 
wonderfully  buoyant,  rising  and  falling  to  the  waves 
like  an  empty  biscuit  tin,  her  comparatively  short  length 
giving  her  an  advantage  in  recovering  from  a  dive  into 
the  depths  in  time  to  meet  the  lift  of  the  coming  wave 
that  would  not  have  been  shared  by  a  larger  ship.  The 
decks  were  repeatedly  swept  by  the  last  yard  or  two 
of  a  sharp  crest  that  she  could  not  quite  surmount,  but 
not  once  did  she  put  her  bowsprit  into  green  water 
when  she  had  not  pulled  up  to  an  angle  that  allowed 
her  to  shake  free  from  the  ensuing  deluge  in  time  to 
meet  the  next  wave. 

The  leaps  from  hollows  to  crests,  and  from  crests 
back  to  hollows,  were  positively  appalling  in  the  con- 
trasts of  the  sudden  transitions.  Up  out  of  the  fog  of 
foam  in  the  trough  the  yacht  would  stagger,  and  not 
until  she  stabbed  the  curling  crest  and  began  teetering 
undecidedly  on  the  ridge  would  the  wind  that  had  been 
shrieking  in  the  upper  rigging  have  a  chance  to  strike 
the  hull.  Then  it  came  all  at  once,  a  palpably  solid 
block  of  air,  and  no  man  could  stand  against  it  on  the 
open  deck.  An  instant  more,  and  it  was  as  though  the 
world  was  falling  away  beneath  her,  and  down,  down, 
down  she  would  go  until  one  stirred  and  glanced  at  his 
neighbour  and  set  himself  for  the  jar  of  the  keel  against 
the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

It  was  those  age-long  moments  in  the  hollows,  with 
half  the  weather  sky  and  all  the  wind  cut  off,  with  the 
eyes  blinded  and  the  throat  choked  with  spume,  with 
the  ears  deafened  with  the  thunderous  volleys  of  the 
flapping  sails,  and  in  the  heart  the  vague  and  ever- 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  289 

haunting  dread  that  the  next  wave  would  be  the  one  to 
break,  the  one  against  which  the  yacht's  seaworthiness 
and  the  helmsman's  cunning  would  alike  be  of  no 
avail,  that  were  the  hardest  to  endure.  The  trough  of 
the  sea  in  a  big  storm  is  the  nearest  thing  to  primal 
chaos  that  can  be  experienced  in  this  age  of  the  world; 
only  one  must  be  in  a  small  craft  to  get  the  full  bene- 
fit of  it.  Apropos  of  which  it  may  be  of  interest  to 
note  here  that  at  this  very  time,  500  miles  to  the  north- 
east, our  friend  McGrath,  the  trader  of  Nukahiva,  who 
had  been  cast  away  from  the  Marquesas  some  weeks 
previously,  was  fighting  through  this  same  storm  in  a 
thirty-foot  open  boat  in  a  desperate  effort  to  make  the 
harbour  of  Pago  Pago. 

The  Commodore  had  just  come  on  deck  at  seven 
o'clock  with  the  disconcerting  news  that  the  barometer 
was  down  to  28.30  and  still  falling,  when  the  lookout 
threw  a  bombshell  on  his  own  account  into  the  cockpit 
by  a  half -articulate,  wind-choked  hail  to  the  effect  that 
he  had  sighted  land  abeam  to  lee.  No  one  said  any- 
thing as  the  yacht  began  to  climb  the  next  wave,  but 
"Drifting  on  Curacao  Reef"  was  written  plain  on  every 
face;  the  angling  slant  of  our  quickly-quenched  wake 
told  only  too  plainly  of  the  fearful  leeway  we  were 
making.  Each  clawing  the  salt  dust  from  his  eyes  with 
one  hand,  clutching  a  shroud  or  halyard  with  the  other, 
and  bracing  mightily  against  the  wind,  we  waited  for 
the  view  to  open  up  to  leeward  as  the  schooner  reached 
the  ridge  of  the  soaring  sea  up  which  she  struggled, 
to  behold  with  untold  relief,  not  the  imminent  and  un- 
ending line  of  great  breakers  on  a  coral  reef  which  we 


290     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

had  expected,  but  a  black  triangle  of  rock,  fully  twenty 
miles  distant,  standing  sharp  and  clear  as  the  Cheop's 
Pyramid  against  the  grey  sky. 

"Boscawen  Island;  barren  rock,  2,000  feet  high," 
quoted  the  Commodore  from  the  Directory ;  to  add,  with 
renewed  excitement,  "But  if  that's  Boscawen  Island, 
then  where  in  the  name  of — Neptune — is  the  Curacao 
Reef  and  Shoals?"  Then,  his  eyes  turning  to  the  wind- 
ward horizon  in  a  puzzled  search  as  the  yacht  topped 
the  next  wave,  "We  must  have  drifted  right  across  them 
if  the  chart  is  right!" 

We  watched  for  an  hour  for  the  phantom  reef  with 
no  result.  There  was  little  left  to  worry  about  on  the 
score  of  danger,  as  we  were  well  to  the  lee  of  the  points 
dotted  out  as  shoal  on  the  chart,  while  in  our  own  lee 
the  sea  stretched  clear  and  open  to  Boscawen  and  be- 
yond; but  the  manner  of  the  mystery  of  this  piece  of 
marine  legerdemain  was — or  would  have  been  at  a  time 
when  there  was  less  to  think  about — an  absorbing  prob- 
lem. Certain  it  was  that  our  leeway  was  proving 
greater  than  our  headway ;  also  that,  irrespective  of  the 
correctness  of  our  reckoning  of  the  day  before,  the 
yacht  could  not  have  reached  the  position  she  was  in 
without  drifting  squarely  across  some  portion  of  either 
the  reef  or  shoal  as  they  were  charted.  As  sailing  over 
the  reef  was  impossible,  and  over  the  shoal,  at  least  un- 
knowingly, improbable,  we  were  left  to  the  conclusion 
that,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  neither  is  marked 
"P.D.,"  ("Position  Doubtful,")  both  are  incorrectly 
located  on  the  chart.  Outside  of  the  half-dozen  archi- 
pelagoes most  navigated,  chart  errors  in  the  South  Pa- 
cific are  by  no  means  uncommon. 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  291 

At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  with  the  barometer 
at  28.20,  the  wind,  blowing  more  furiously  than  ever, 
hauled  suddenly  to  S.S.W.  At  11.45  the  forestay-sail 
carried  away,  and,  with  every  fresh  blast  threatening  to 
strip  off  the  remaining  canvas,  it  did  not  take  long  to 
arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  we  were  approaching, 
rather  than  getting  away  from,  the  centre  of  disturb- 
ance. Whether  we  had  a  fully  developed  hurricane  to 
contend  with,  or,  as  was  quite  possible,  a  "southwester" 
of  unusual  violence,  we  could  not  definitely  determine. 
The  sinister  sky,  the  low  barometer,  and  the  action  of 
the  wind  up  to  that  time  all  said  "Hurricane";  the  sea- 
son, and  the  fact  that  the  wind  showed  a  tendency  to 
continue  from  the  Fiji  quarter,  indicated  the  "South- 
wester." 

Assuming  at  the  time,  therefore,  that  we  were  bor- 
ing into  a  hurricane  whose  centre  was  to  the  S.S.W., 
the  Commodore  made  up  his  mind  to  hurry  away  from 
that  centre  as  expeditiously  as  possible.  Accordingly, 
after  a  new  forestay-sail  had,  with  considerable  diffi- 
culty, been  bent  in  the  place  of  the  one  carried  away, 
all  the  rest  of  the  canvas  was  taken  off  the  yacht  and, 
under  that  sail  alone,  she  was  put  on  the  port  tack  be- 
fore the  wind. 

All  that  afternoon  Lurline  ran  like  a  frightened  deer, 
with  the  waves,  like  hounds,  coming  up  on  her  trail  and 
snapping  viciously  at  her  flanks  as  they  rushed  by. 
Time  and  again  the  helmsman,  grinding  the  wheel  hard 
up  to  keep  her  before  the  wind,  would  glance  with  the 
tail  of  his  eye  at  a  foam-splotched  wall  of  green  that 
blotted  out  the  sky  astern,  to  hunch  his  shoulders  and 
grip  his  spokes  the  tighter,  waiting  with  tensed  muscles 


292     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

and  set  face  the  blow  that  menaced  from  above;  time 
and  again,  yawing  desperately  as  the  tail  of  a  galloping 
sea  gave  her  nose  a  tweak,  the  yacht  would  seem  on  the 
point  of  broaching  right  under  the  hollow  wall  of  the 
comber  next  in  line ;  time  and  again — to  lee  on  the  wind- 
swept crests  and  to  weather  in  the  cross-gusts  of  the 
hollows — she  would  roll  a  rail  deep  under  and  dip  up  a 
deckful  of  solid  water  from  which  she  could  never  quite 
clear  herself  before  another  came  sousing  aboard  from 
the  other  side :  and  through  it  all  nothing  of  serious  mo- 
ment happened. 

Meanwhile  active  preparations  for  meeting  the  "worse 
to  come"  were  underway.  A  storm  trysail  was  dug  out 
from  the  obscurity  of  a  musty  corner  of  the  lazarette, 
spars  were  lashed  up  for  a  sea-anchor,  bags  of  oakum 
were  soaked  with  oil  and  the  life-boats  provisioned  and 
watered.  When  there  was  nothing  more  to  get  ready 
some  one  looked  at  the  barometer  to  find — this  was 
about  four  in  the  afternoon — that  it  had  risen  twelve 
points  since  noon  and  was  still  displaying  optimistic 
tendencies. 

As  it  was  our  intention  to  run  only  until  the  barometer 
began  to  rise,  all  hands  were  promptly  set  to  bending 
a  new  foresail  in  the  place  of  the  one  carried  away  the 
night  before.  When  this  was  accomplished  we  hove 
her  to  on  the  port  tack  under  foresail,  close-reefed,  and 
the  forestay-sail  that  was  already  on  her.  After  that, 
though  the  sea  continued  to  increase  for  some  hours,  she 
rode  out  the  night  with  her  deck  unswept  by  anything 
heavier  than  the  driving  spray. 

All  night  the  barometer  mounted  until,  at  daybreak 
of  the  21st,  28.60  was  passed,  a  juncture  at  which  it 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  293 

was  deemed  safe  to  resolve  the  unused  sea-anchor  into 
its  component  parts  and  stow  the  storm  trysail  and  oil 
bags  against  another  storm.  The  wind  blew  fiercely 
from  the  southwest  all  day,  and  not  until  midnight, 
when  it  began  chopping  around  toward  the  east,  did  the 
sea  show  any  signs  of  falling.  Then  it  began  smooth- 
ing rapidly,  and  by  daybreak  the  yacht  very  comfort- 
ably stood  the  addition  of  the  close-reefed  mainsail  and 
jib. 

At  noon  of  the  22nd  reefs  were  shaken  out  and  all- 
plain  sail  carried  for  the  first  time  in  four  days.  The 
barometer  was  by  then  up  to  28.78,  while  the  wind,  blow- 
ing steadily  from  the  southeast,  enabled  us  finally  to 
get  back  on  the  Fiji  course  of  S.W.  by  W.  The  un- 
clouded sky  was  a  dome  of  cobalt  again,  and  the  sea, 
coldly  green  and  laced  with  streaks  of  foam,  a  rolling 
plain  of  furrowed  jade;  but  in  spite  of  fair  weather, 
the  temperature  of  the  air  was  away  down  to  74°,  and 
the  water  but  four  degrees  warmer.  The  sea,  under 
the  influence  of  the  veering  wind,  continued  to  fall  rap- 
idly all  afternoon.  At  six  o'clock  the  lone  rock  of 
Niuafou,  the  most  northwesterly  outpost  of  the  Fijis, 
appeared  on  the  southern  horizon,  almost  immediately 
to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

By  morning  of  the  23rd  the  wind  was  back  in  its  reg- 
ular quarter,  E.S.E.,  but  blowing  so  gently  that  the 
yacht,  though  carrying  most  of  her  light  sails,  could 
average  no  better  than  six  or  seven  knots  an  hour.  The 
run  to  noon  was  158  miles. 

The  lookout  caught  the  flash  of  the  Weilangilali  Light 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  24th,  and  by  day- 
light we  were  well  down  the  Naniku  Passage  into  the 


294     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Fijis.  The  wind  was  light  but  steady,  and  the  scores  of 
small,  low  islands  to  windward,  cutting  the  swell  almost 
completely  off,  made  splendid  sailing.  The  flat  horizon, 
unbroken  save  by  the  blur  of  an  occasional  island,  was 
a  welcome  relief  from  the  wave-crumpled  skyline  we 
had  left  behind  in  the  open  sea.  The  Fijian  Archi- 
pelago is  a  veritable  nest  of  reefs,  large  and  small,  and 
islands,  both  coral  and  volcanic,  of  every  degree  of  mag- 
nitude. We  picked  up  island  after  island  during  the 
day,  and  at  night  they  still  continued  to  push  up  ahead, 
grey  banks  of  enchantment  in  the  silver  sea  of  the  moon- 
light. 

Two  of  the  curious  rocks  that  we  passed  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  on  account  of  their  peculiar  and  distinctive 
outlines,  are  down  on  the  chart  as  Hat  and  Cap  Island, 
respectively.  This  circumstance  was  responsible  for  the 
following  laconic  entry  in  the  frivolous  "Ladies'  Log": 

"June  24th. — Passing  Hat  and  Cap  Islands  caused 
quite  a  flutter  in  the  bonnet  of  the  forestay-sail." 

The  180th  meridian  was  passed  early  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  24th,  upon  which  that  day  became  immediately 
Saturday,  the  25th.  This  made  the  next  day  Sunday, 
which  fact  poor  Clark,  the  cook,  learned  so  tardily  that 
it  was  by  only  the  maddest  of  efforts  that  the  indispens- 
able "duff"  was  prepared  in  time  for  dinner. 

The  Trade-wind  gave  way  to  the  cool  land  breeze  from 
the  big  island  of  Viti  Levu  in  the  early  morning  of  the 
26th.  This,  fresh  with  a  welcome  earthy  smell,  coaxed 
the  yacht  gingerly  along  for  several  hours,  only  to  die 


PAGO  PAGO  TO  SUVA  295 

out  toward  noon  and  leave  her  becalmed  fifteen  miles  off 
Suva  entrance. 

With  every  foot  of  sail  spread  to  take  advantage  of 
the  vagrant  puffs  of  wind  that  were  coming  occasionally 
from  the  north,  the  yacht  had  shouldered  along  with 
the  swells  to  within  ten  miles  of  the  harbour,  when  the 
pilot,  coming  off  in  answer  to  our  signal,  boarded  us  to 
say  that  we  might  as  well  lower  our  sails  and  prepare  to 
spend  the  night  where  we  were.  Promising,  in  case  the 
wind  was  blowing,  to  come  off  in  the  morning  and  take 
us  in,  he  bade  us  an  officious  good-bye,  clambered  down 
into  his  boat  and  set  his  crew  of  convict  rowers  pulling 
back  to  the  land.  Five  minutes  later  the  breeze  fresh- 
ened and  the  yacht,  slipping  swiftly  through  the  smooth 
water,  passed  the  pilot's  boat  and  left  it  half  a  mile 
astern  before  we  luffed  up  and  waited  for  that  thor- 
oughly discomfited  functionary  to  come  alongside  and 
climb  aboard.  An  hour  and  a  half  later  we  had 
threaded  the  tortuous,  buoy-marked  passage  through 
the  reef  and  come  to  anchor  a  cable's  length  off  the  end 
of  Suva  pier. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN    SUVA   AND    MBAU 

GENERALLY  speaking,  the  islands,  both  coral  and  vol- 
canic, lying  east  of  the  180th  Meridian  in  the  Pacific  are 
almost  perfectly  healthy,  while  those  to  the  west  of  it 
incline  to  the  breeding  of  a  number  of  more  or  less 
virulent  forms  of  malarial  fevers,  a  circumstance  prin- 
cipally due  to  the  fact  that  the  eastern  islands,  as  a  rule, 
have  better  natural  drainage  and  are  more  exposed  to 
the  full  sweep  of  the  Trade-wind.  The  big  island  of 
Viti  Levu,  the  seat  of  British  government  in  Fiji,  is  not 
an  exception  to  this  rule.  It  is  beautiful  in  spots,  even 
attaining  to  real  scenic  grandeur  among  the  high  moun- 
tains of  the  interior ;  but  its  coast  is  a  monotonous  suc- 
cession of  intricate  barrier  reefs  and  mangrove  swamps. 
Suva  is,  perhaps,  the  best  location  available  for  a  capi- 
tal under  the  circumstances,  but  the  town  in  the  hands 
of  almost  any  other  nation  than  the  British  would  be 
a  fearful  pest-hole.  As  it  is,  strict  attention  to  drain- 
age and  sanitation  has  made  it  comparatively  healthy, 
though  to  no  such  degree  as  any  of  the  capitals  east  of 
the  dividing  meridian. 

Fiji  is  the  meeting  and  mingling  point — the  melting- 
pot — of  the  two  diverse  races  of  the  eastern  and  western 
islands  of  the  South  Pacific.  While  probably  of  the 
same  ethnic  origin,  the  race  which  inhabits  the  Ha- 
waiian, Marquesan,  Society,  Tonga,  Friendly,  Samoan, 
and  other  groups  of  the  eastern  division  of  the  South 

296 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  297 

Seas — the  pure  Polynesian — is  as  different,  mentally 
and  physically,  from  the  Melanesian  or  Papuan  type  of 
the  New  Hebrides,  Solomons,  New  Britians  and  New 
Guinea  as  the  Mongolian  is  from  the  Ethiopian.     Each 
race  seems  to  reflect  the  physical  environment  in  which 
it  has  been  cradled.     The  Polynesian — especially  where 
he  has  been  little  subject  to  Caucasian  influence,  as  in 
Samoa — is  as  bright,  attractive  and  as  fair  to  look  upon 
as  the  islands  of  enchantment  that  give  him  birth.     The 
Melanesian — kinky-haired,   black   of   skin,   sullen   and 
fierce  of  disposition — is  the  incarnation  of  the  fever- 
haunted  mangrove  glades  through  which  he  leads  his 
murderous  forays.     The  Fijian,  in  whose  veins  courses 
the  blood  of  the  two  races,  has  certain  of  the  physical 
and  mental  qualities  of  both.     Generally  speaking,  how- 
ever, he  seems  to  have  bred  truer  to  his  sinister  Papuan 
forbears  than  to  the  lightsome  Polynesian.     Magnifi- 
cent physical  specimen,  clever  builder  and  brave  war- 
rior that  he  is,  there  is  little  in  the  Fijian  of  the  frank, 
kindly,  open-heartedness  which  draws  one  so  irresistibly 
under  the  spell  of  the  pure  Polynesian.    The  enchant- 
ment and  the  glamour  of  the  South  Seas — how  often 
those  words  are  on  one's  tongue  in  Samoa  and  Tahiti! 
— like  their  salubrity,  are  confined  to  the  east  of  the 
"Line  of  Night  and  Day."     Absorbingly  interesting 
are  the  islands  and  the  natives  of  the  western  groups, 
but  their  appeal  is  to  the  head,  not  to  the  heart. 

Forty  years  ago  the  Fijis  were  in  a  completer  state 
of  savagery  than  are  the  New  Hebrides  and  Solomons 
today.  Every  village  was  at  war  with  its  neighbour, 
the  victims  falling  in  the  tribal  fights  invariably  being 
eaten;  war  canoes  were  launched  over  human  bodies  as 


298     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

rollers,  a  man's  skull  was  placed  at  the  base  of  every 
post  of  a  new  temple,  while  a  custom — not  unlike 
the  East  Indian  one  of  suttee — was  responsible  for  the 
strangling  of  all  of  a  dead  chief's  widows  to  set  their 
spirits  free  to  accompany  him  on  his  journey.  Every 
party  landing  from  foreign  ships  had  been  attacked 
from  the  time  of  the  early  navigators.  Among  those 
thus  set  upon  were  a  number  of  American  sailors  who 
were  killed  and  eaten  early  in  the  last  century,  this 
incident  being  responsible  for  the  visit  of  the  first  Fijian 
to  the  United  States,  the  hardened  old  cannibal,  Vendovi, 
who  was  brought  by  the  corvette,  Vincennes,  to  Hamp- 
ton Roads  to  stand  trial  for  inciting  the  offence. 

Most  of  the  first  missionaries  who  ventured  into  Fiji 
also  went  into  the  cooking  pots,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
early  70's  that  the  Wesleyans,  whose  nerve  must  have 
equalled  their  faith,  became  sufficiently  well  established 
to  get  the  ear  of  King  Thakambau.  The  conversion  of 
this  powerful  ruler  soon  followed,  the  first  and  most  im- 
portant result  of  which  being  the  ceding  of  the  group — 
he  had  offered  it  to  the  United  States  in  1869— to 
Great  Britain.  As  a  token  of  his  fealty  Thakambau 
sent  to  Queen  Victoria  his  favourite  war  club,  hitherto, 
as  he  naively  put  it,  "the  only  law  in  Fiji."  This  club, 
with  the  monarch's  great  kava  bowl,  is  preserved  in  the 
British  Museum. 

The  Christianization  and  pacification  of  the  Fijis 
went  on  side  by  side,  and  within  two  decades  there  was 
a  mission  and  a  missionary  in  every  village  of  the  group, 
while  a  white  man's  life  was  as  safe  in  the  wilds  of  Vita 
Levu  or  Taviuni  as  in  Sydney  or  London.  For  the  last 
twenty  years  the  end  of  the  missionaries'  endeavour  has 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  299 

been  to  bring  the  somewhat  precariously  converted  na- 
tives to  a  fuller  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  Chris- 
tianity, while  the  government  has  built  roads,  established 
a  large  and  efficient  native  police  force  and  encouraged 
agriculture  to  such  good  effect  that  Fiji  ranks  second 
only  to  Hawaii  among  the  Pacific  islands  as  a  sugar 
producer  and  also  figures  extensively  as  an  exporter  of 
copra  and  fruit. 

The  transformation  of  the  Fijis  from  cannibalism  to 
a  condition  of  peacefulness  and  prosperity  has  been  one 
of  the  most  striking  achievements  of  its  kind  in  the  his- 
tory of  colonial  endeavour.  Just  how  much  of  the 
credit  is  due  to  the  missionary  and  how  much  to  that 
other  quiet,  unassuming  bearer  of  the  "White  Man's 
Burden,"  the  British  official,  it  would  be  hard  to  de- 
termine. Popularly,  on  account  of  the  spectacular  na- 
ture of  his  early  campaigns  which  culminated  in  the 
conversion  of  the  terrible  Thakambau,  the  honours  are 
given  to  the  missionary,  which,  like  most  popular  ver- 
dicts, is  not  quite  fair. 

To  the  British  colonial  official — to  any  colonial  offi- 
cial of  the  right  stamp— the  patient  coaxing  of  the 

"new-caught   sullen  peoples, 
Half-devil  and  half-child" 

out  of  the  darkness  of  their  "loved  Egyptian  Night"  is 
all  in  the  day's  work.  His  maintenance  in  the  field, 
however,  is  not  dependent  upon  funds  raised  by  sub- 
scription, as  in  the  case  of  the  missionary,  and  an  appeal 
to  popular  sympathy  is,  therefore,  unnecessary.  For 
the  missionary,  to  whom  the  awakening  of  interest  in 
his  successes  means  more  money  to  carry  on  his  work, 


300     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

publicity  is  only  good  business.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  the  missionary,  rather  than  the  no  less  deserving 
official,  is  associated  in  the  popular  mind  with  the  rec- 
lamation of  Fiji.  There  is  honour  enough,  and  to 
spare,  for  both  workers  of  the  wonder  which  has  been 
wrought;  but  it  is  meet  that  the  quiet,  earnest,  intelli- 
gent efforts  of  the  government  official  should  not  be 
overlooked. 

The  Fijian  is  too  much  of  a  Polynesian  to  take  kindly 
to  work  under  the  new  regime,  so  that,  with  100,000  or 
more  of  him  sitting  idly  about  in  the  shade  of  the  coco 
palms,  it  has  been  necessary  to  bring  the  plantation  la- 
bour from  the  New  Hebrides,  Solomons,  New  Guinea 
and  even  British  India.  At  first  the  blacks  of  the  west- 
erly islands,  recruited  by  more  or  less  responsible  agents 
who  induced  them  to  contract  to  work  for  a  term  of 
years  at  so  much  a  month,  were  the  mainstay  of  the 
plantations,  but  for  the  last  twenty  years  the  industrious 
Hindu  coolie,  indentured  at  a  wage  equivalent  to  from 
four  to  seven  dollars  a  month,  has  been  employed  al- 
most exclusively.  The  passing  of  the  Melanesian  black 
on  the  plantations  of  Fiji  and  Australia  marks  the  fin- 
ish of  one  of  the  most  picturesque,  if  also  one  of  the 
crudest,  traffics  in  the  history  of  the  South  Pacific,  that 
of  "black-birding"  or  labour-recruiting. 

Although  the  Insular  Government  makes  a  great 
point  of  maintaining  all  the  ancient  tribal  observances 
in  its  relations  with  the  Fijians,  not  many  of  the  old 
customs  and  ceremonies  have  survived.  Internecine 
wars  are,  of  course,  things  of  the  past,  and  even  when  a 
fight  is  started  up  between  a  couple  of  mountain  vil- 
lages, it  is  the  musket  and  not  the  war  club  that  decides 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  301 

with  which  party  the  honours  shall  rest.  The  meke- 
meke  or  dance — especially  that  of  the  women — has  not 
had  the  vitality  to  survive  the  hostility  of  the  mission- 
aries, white  and  black,  though  on  great  occasions,  such 
as  the  wedding  of  a  chief  or  a  reception  to  the  Governor, 
some  of  the  ancient  war  measures  are  trod  by  a  squad 
of  men.  It  is  a  good  deal  as  I  heard  the  captain  of  a 
British  cruiser  on  the  Australian  station  put  it — "The 
Fijian  has  altered  scarcely  less  than  the  Tahitian  under 
his  contact  with  the  white  man;  only  with  the  latter  it 
has  been  a  case  of  'too  much  French  official/  and  with 
the  former  'too  much  missionary.' ' 

However,  the  Fijian  stood  in  need  of  a  good  deal  of 
making  over  before  his  islands  were  safe  for  a  white 
man  to  live  in,  and  even  if  most  of  his  picturesqueness 
departed  with  his  deviltry,  the  balance  is  still  on  the 
right  side  of  the  ledger  and  in  favour  of  the  missionary. 

The  Fijian  woman  has  neither  the  good  looks,  the 
good  manners  nor  the  good  nature  of  her  Samoan  or 
Tahitian  sister.  Her  lack  of  amenity  is  largely  due  to 
the  fact  that  her  lord  and  master,  in  his  treatment  of  her, 
is  more  of  a  Papuan  or  African  than  a  Polynesian. 
Such  work  as  is  done  in  the  village — mostly  fishing  and 
a  little  crude  cultivation — falls  to  the  lot  of  the  women, 
probably  as  a  survival  of  the  days  when  the  men  spent 
all  of  their  waking  hours  engaging  in  or  repelling 
forays.  She  is  always  kept  in  the  background  when 
visitors  are  present  and,  probably  as  a  consequence  of 
generations  of  restraint,  has  none  of  the  natural  graces 
of  the  woman  of  pure  Polynesian  stock. 

The  suppression  of  the  Fijian  woman  is  especially 
remarkable  in  the  light  of  the  fact  that,  through  some 


302     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

caprice  of  Nature,  males  considerably  outnumber  fe- 
males in  the  group,  a  condition  which,  in  almost  every 
other  similar  instance  on  record,  has  enhanced  the  power 
and  prestige  of  the  latter  sex.  Why  it  has  failed  to  do 
so  in  Fiji  is  as  unexplicable  as  the  condition  itself — 
the  predominance  in  numbers  of  men  in  a  group  of 
islands  which  has  been  one  of  the  worst  hot-beds  of  in- 
ternecine warfare  the  world  has  ever  known. 

This  excess  of  men  in  Fiji — the  fact  that  there  are 
not  enough  women  to  "go  round" — proved  one  of  the 
most  troublesome  factors  in  the  pacification  of  the 
islands,  and  in  keeping  them  quiet  once  that  pacification 
was  accomplished.  A  young  warrior  without  a  wife,  and 
with  no  prospect  of  getting  one  save  in  a  foray,  is  the 
equal  as  an  inciter  of  trouble  of  a  deposed  Latin  Ameri- 
can president.  Such  a  one  had  no  wife  to  lose  in  an 
intertribal  war,  while  there  was  always  a  chance  that  he 
might  emerge  from  such  a  struggle  in  full,  if  transient, 
possession  of  that  supreme  desideratum.  The  enlist- 
ment of  many  of  these  restless  "left-overs"  in  the  "A. 
N.  C.,"  the  Armed  Native  Constabulary,  has  been  the 
best  expedient  possible  under  the  circumstances.  A 
gun  and  uniform  do  not  take  the  place  of  a  wife,  how- 
ever (though,  as  has  been  proven,  they  often  are  the 
short  cuts  to  getting  one  at  the  expense  of  some  one 
else) ,  and  the  problem  is  going  to  be  a  troublesome  one 
until  nature  equalizes  the  disparity  of  sexes  by  increas- 
ing the  birth  rate  of  girls,  or  an  interval  of  intertribal 
wars  supervenes  to  cut  down  the  excess  of  men. 

The  Fijians  are  less  expert  in  the  building  and  han- 
dling of  boats  than  the  Samoans,  The  craft  most  fav- 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  303 

oured  is  of  the  catamaran  type,  consisting  of  two  canoes 
joined  by  a  platform,  or  occasionally,  a  single  canoe  with 
a  platform  built  on  the  outrigger.  These  affairs,  while 
comparatively  seaworthy,  are  of  little  use  for  sailing  and 
very  difficult  to  paddle  with  any  speed.  The  whale- 
boat,  so  common  in  Samoa,  is  rarely  seen  in  Fiji.  Most 
of  the  interisland  voyages  are  undertaken  in  clumsy 
sloops,  though  occasional  runs  with  the  wind  are  made 
with  the  primitive  mat-sailed  catamarans. 

There  is  not  much  to  please  the  eye  about  Suva  har- 
bour, but  it  is  deep  and  safe,  and  the  loss  of  shipping 
there  in  hurricanes  rarely  proves  so  complete  as  in 
Tahiti  or  Samoa.  The  storm  through  which  Lurline 
passed  en  voyage  from  Samoa  destroyed  several  houses 
in  the  town  and  wrought  great  damage  on  the  outlying 
plantations,  but  the  loss  in  the  harbour  was  limited  to  a 
few  carelessly-moored  native  sloops  which  were  piled 
up  on  the  beach.  Suva,  both  on  land  and  water,  is  far 
better  prepared  than  the  island  ports  to  the  east  to  meet 
these  heavy  blows,  nearly  all  of  the  houses  being  strongly 
guyed  with  steel  cables,  while  numerous  securely  an- 
chored buoys  in  the  bay  give  shipping  a  fair  chance  to 
ride  out  the  storms  in  safety. 

Socially,  Suva  is  more  developed  than  the  French  or 
other  South  Pacific  island  capitals,  and  one  dropping  in 
for  afternoon  tea  at  the  Fiji  Club  or  Government  House 
might  easily  imagine  himself  in  Cape  Town,  Hongkong, 
Colombo,  or  one  of  a  dozen  other  outposts  of  the  British 
Empire.  The  Briton's  first  move  in  colonization  is  to 
make  his  seat  of  government  a  bit  of  old  England;  to 


304  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

say  that  he  has  succeeded  in  Suva  means  much,  both  as 
to  the  magnitude  of  the  work  accomplished  as  well  as 
to  the  attractiveness  of  the  life  there. 

Sir  H.  M.  Jackson,  K.C.M.G.,  the  Governor  of 
Fiji,  had  left  for  his  new  post  in  Trinidad  shortly  be- 
fore our  arrival  in  Suva,  the  place  being  temporarily 
filled  by  the  Chief  Justice,  Sir  Charles  Major,  by  whom 
we  were  pleasantly  entertained.  Colonel  Leslie  Brown, 
the  American  Consular  Agent,  proved  a  most  agreeable 
gentleman,  as  did  also  his  business  partner,  the  Hon- 
ourable Arthur  Joske,  to  both  of  whom  we  were  in- 
debted for  much  kindness. 

H.M.S.  Clio,  Captain  Wilkins,  arrived  in  Suva  dur- 
ing our  stay  and  proved  good  company  for  Lurline. 
This  smart  little  gunboat  was  in  the  South  Pacific  on 
what  appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  roving  commission,  the 
principal  object  of  which  seemed  to  be  the  blowing 
up  of  a  troublesome  rock  that  was  somewhat  indefi- 
nitely located  off  to  the  northeast.  At  one  of  our  dinner 
parties  Captain  Wilkins  challenged  us  to  sail  a  cutter 
from  Lurline  against  that  of  the  Clio's.  The  Commo- 
dore promptly  accepted,  and  the  race  was  contested  on 
the  first  of  July.  Well  handled  by  Victor  and  Gus, 
our  boat  secured  a  good  lead  on  the  run  to  the  buoy 
at  the  outer  reef,  but  in  the  beat  home,  owing  to  the 
faulty  adjustment  of  a  detachable  keel  borrowed  from 
Clio  for  the  occasion,  made  heavy  leeway,  lost  all  she 
had  gained,  and  finished  a  poor  second. 

I  spent  most  of  our  stay  in  Fiji  on  a  visit  to  Mbau, 
the  ancient  native  capital,  a  guest  of  the  distinguished 
Roku  Kandavu  Levu.  The  trip  by  launch,  horseback 
and  canoe  is  a  somewhat  arduous  one,  but  well  worth 


H 

W  - 

W  "02 
fe     W 


o   o 

-   Q 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  305 

the  trouble,  as  this  little  island  is  one  of  the  most  pic- 
turesque and  historic  spots  in  the  South  Pacific.     It 
was  here  that  the  great  King  Thakambau,  who  ceded 
the  group  to  the  British,  made  his  headquarters,  and  the 
beautiful  village  still  contains  many  evidences  of  its  for- 
mer greatness.     Thakambau's  great  war  canoe,  a  huge 
double  dugout  over  a  hundred  feet  in  length,  its  shat- 
tered sides  carefully  protected  from  the  ravages  of  the 
elements  by  a  regularly-renewed  shed  of  palm  leaves, 
is  still  religiously  preserved  on  the  leeward  beach.     It 
is  this  canoe  which  history  records  was,  whenever  possi- 
ble, launched  over  live  human  bodies  as  rollers,  one  di- 
vision of  the  king's  army  being  kept  continually  on  the 
foray  to  provide  the  wherewithal.     The  body  of  the 
king,  who  died  in  1883  after  enjoying  an  annual  pen- 
sion of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  for  a  decade  or  more, 
rests  under  a  tall  shaft  of  marble  on  the  top  of  a  hill  in 
the  centre  of  the  little  island  and,  not  unfittingly,  in  the 
shade  of  the  Wesleyan  mission  church. 

The  Roku  Kandavu  Levu,  a  most  attractive  young 
man  whom  I  saw  more  of  later  in  Suva,  left  on  a  jour- 
ney up  the  Rewa  on  the  evening  of  my  arrival,  but  not, 
however,  before  telling  the  Mbuli  or  headman  to  give 
me  the  "freedom  of  the  city"  and  turning  me  over  to  a 
couple  of  young  British  madcaps,  who  had  been  his 
guests  for  a  fortnight,  with  instructions  to  "keep  the 
ball  rolling."  I  could  not  have  fallen  into  better  hands. 
The  Honourable  Bertie  W-  — ,  whom  I  have  since 
learned  has  only  one  invalid  brother  between  himself 
and  the  succession  to  a  baronetcy,  had  been  sent  to  the 
Antipodes  by  his  noble  father  because  he  had  allowed 
the  charms  of  a  young  lady  of  the  Gaiety  chorus  to  in- 


306    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

terfere  with  his  pursuit  of  knowledge  at  Cambridge.  A 
month  of  good  behaviour  in  Sydney  was  being  rewarded 
by  a  tour  of  Fiji,  on  which  was  officiating  as  cicerone 
young  Mr.  Tom  B ,  the  son  of  a  prominent  attor- 
ney of  Suva,  and  a  lad  after  the  Honourable  Bertie's 
own  heart. 

These  two  spirited  youngsters — both  were  under 
twenty — had  started  out  from  Suva  to  "study  native 
life  at  first  hand"  in  the  wilds  of  the  interior  of  Vita 
Levu,  but  the  Roku  Kandavu  Levu,  who  could  not  let 
himself  miss  the  chance  for  practice  with  two  crack 
cricketers  go  by — he  had  been  the  best  bat  on  the  Uni- 
versity of  Sydney  eleven  a  few  years  previously — con- 
trived to  make  his  capital  so  pleasant  for  them  that  they 
had  lost  interest  in  the  savages  of  the  mountain  country 
and  settled  down  to  pursue  their  investigations  at  Mbau. 
Everybody,  it  appeared,  had  been  pleased  with  the  ar- 
rangement but  the  missionary,  who,  because  a  large  part 
of  his  congregation  had  stayed  away  from  service  to 
watch  the  Honourable  Bertie  illustrating  the  principles 
of  Ranjitsinji's  famous  "leg  glance"  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Roku  on  the  village  green,  had  closed  up  the  church 
and  posted  a  notice  in  Fijian  upon  the  door  that  it  would 
not  be  opened  until  the  Sabbath -breakers  had  left  the 
island.  The  Roku  who,  from  his  Australian  education, 
is  a  fairly  open  minded  cynic  himself,  still  hardly  felt 
it  desirable  politically,  as  the  ranking  chief  in  Fiji,  to 
stir  up  trouble  with  the  all-powerful  missionaries.  Ac- 
cordingly, torn  between  the  exigencies  of  hospitality  and 
his  duty  as  the  chief  of  a  Christianized  people,  the  Roku, 
dodging  responsibility  in  flight,  had  departed  on  an  "ur- 
gent" mission  up  the  river,  telling  his  guests  to  continue 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  307 

their  "studies"  as  long  as  they  desired  and  leaving  word 
for  the  villagers  not  to  let  their  love  of  sport  interfere 
with  their  devotions.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  this 
"interregnum"  that  I  arrived. 

The  natives  of  Mbau,  probably  as  a  result  of  the  ex- 
ample set  by  their  distinguished  chief,  are  very  fond  of 
all  kinds  of  outdoor  sports,  which  fact  inspired  my 
young  friends  with  the  idea  of  holding  a  field  day  in 
which  the  white  race  should  compete  against  the  brown. 
The  honour  of  the  Caucasian  was  to  be  upheld  by  Bertie, 
Tom  and  myself,  while  that  of  the  Polynesian  would  be 
maintained  by  a  selection  from  all  of  the  Fijians  on  the 
island.  Most  of  the  first  day  was  spent  arranging  the 
program.  The  natives  wanted  a  tug-of-war,  but  our 
captain,  Bertie,  realizing  that  we  lacked  the  "beef"  for 
such  a  contest,  agreed  to  its  inclusion  only  in  the  event 
that  the  missionary — with  whom  South  Sea  life  had 
agreed  so  well  that  he  weighed  in  the  vicinity  of  250 
pounds — could  be  induced  to  pull  with  us  for  the  honour 
of  his  race.  Needless  to  say  the  event  was  not  sched- 
uled. We  did  the  sporting  thing,  however,  by  offering 
to  oppose  an  eleven  made  up  of  the  island's  best  crick- 
eters with  a  "team"  composed  of  Bertie,  Tom  and  my- 
self. The  other  events  decided  upon  were  two  swim- 
ming races,  two  sprints,  one  canoe  race,  shot-put,  throw- 
ing the  cricket  ball,  broad  and  high  jumps,  a  "modified 
Marathon"  and  three  boxing  contests. 

The  second  day  we  spent  in  practice  and  "elimination 
trials"  to  decide  in  which  particular  events  each  of  us 
was  best  fitted  to  compete,  as,  except  for  the  cricket,  the 
finals  were  to  be  strictly  "man-to-man"  affairs.  Luck- 
ily, our  respective  abilities  dove-tailed  perfectly.  Tom 


308     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

was  an  adept  at  swimming  and  no  novice  in  handling  the 
outrigger  canoe,  while  his  splendid  endurance  made  him 
a  natural  if  inexperienced  distance  runner;  Bertie  had 
given  promise  of  developing  into  one  of  the  fastest  ama- 
teur sprinters  in  England  before  the  Gaiety  girl  super- 
vened, and  had  recently  bested  some  of  the  speediest 
men  in  Australia  at  the  "hundred"  and  "two-twenty"; 
my  old  varsity  events,  the  shot-put  and  broad  jump,  and 
the  remnants  of  a  fair  throwing  arm,  made  me  our  logi- 
cal representative  in  the  remaining  contests  we  had 
scheduled.  Each  of  us  was  slated  to  box  in  his  respec- 
tive class — Bertie  in  the  light-weight,  Tom  in  middle- 
weight, and  I — because  I  weighed  a  "good  fourteen 
stone  and  looked  jolly  fit" — in  the  heavy-weight. 

The  elimination  trials  of  the  Fijians  were  not  so  sim- 
ple a  matter.  They  fought  and  wrangled  from  morn 
till  dewy  eve  and  on  into  the  moonlight  in  an  earnest  en- 
deavour to  pick  the  likeliest  representatives  to  uphold  the 
honour  of  their  race.  The  final  list  was  not  handed  to 
Bertie  till  near  midnight,  and  even  then,  as  became  ap- 
parent next  day,  was  not  quite  complete. 

Every  soul  on  the  island  except  the  immediate  mem- 
bers of  the  missionary's  household  was  on  the  beach  in 
the  morning  when  the  canoe  race  was  started,  and,  what 
with  beaten  war  drums  and  coal  oil  cans,  gave  an  exhi- 
bition that  would  have  made  a  varsity  rooting  section 
look  like  a  Quaker  meeting  when  their  man  paddled 
across  the  line  an  easy  winner.  Tom  made  a  good  fight 
but  his  opponent  had  too  many  generations  of  training 
behind  him.  Bertie  evened  up  things  by  sprinting  the 
length  of  the  village  green  a  house-length  ahead  of  his 
dusky  opponent,  and  my  victory  in  the  broad  jump  gave 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  309 

us  a  temporary  lead.  In  the  high  jump  we  were  weak, 
and  Bertie,  who  had  never  essayed  the  event  before,  was 
no  match  for  a  slender  Fijian  youth  who  had  been  to 
school  in  Auckland. 

Tom,  who  was  really  a  marvel  at  the  Australian 
"crawl,"  had  his  revenge  in  the  swimming  race  for  his 
defeat  in  the  outrigger  contest,  beating  his  man  almost 
two  to  one  in  a  dash  of  about  a  hundred  yards  across  a 
bight  in  the  sea-wall.  The  vanquished  Fijian,  who  had 
also  been  picked  to  swim  in  the  race  of  half  a  mile  or 
more  to  the  mainland  and  back,  was  so  crushed  by  the 
completeness  of  his  defeat  that  he  refused  to  compete 
again,  the  event  being  called  off. 

In  the  shot-putting  contest  we  used  an  old  rust-eaten 
twenty-pound  cannon  ball  which  had  been  thrown  into 
the  village  away  back  in  the  40's  by  a  British  gunboat  on 
a  punitive  mission  against  the  natives  for  killing  and 
eating  a  family  of  missionaries.  My  opponent  made  up 
in  strength  what  he  lacked  in  "form,"  and  by  dint  of 
following  the  shot  out  of  the  "ring"  put  up  a  mark  which 
I  was  able  to  beat  only  by  resorting  to  the  same  unor- 
thodox expedient.  Bertie  added  to  our  score  by  romp- 
ing to  another  easy  victory  in  the  sprint  around  an  ap- 
proximate 220-yard  circle  which  had  been  marked  with 
coconuts  along  the  outside  of  the  village  green. 

The  last  event  of  the  forenoon  was  the  "modified 
Marathon,"  to  be  run  over  a  course  once  around  the 
island,  across  the  causeway  to  the  mainland  and  back, 
and  then  around  the  island  again  to  a  finish  in  front  of 
the  council  house,  a  distance  of  about  three  miles.  We 
had  counted  on  Tom  to  win  this  event  handily,  but  the 
Fijians  sprung  a  "ringer"  on  us  by  entering  one  Lai 


310     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Singh,  a  lanky  East  Indian  coolie  who  was  employed 
by  the  Roku  to  carry  messages  back  and  forth  between 
Mbau  and  Rewa.  This  human  greyhound  sprang  away 
at  the  report  of  the  pistol  as  though  running  a  quarter, 
and  had  loped  around  the  island  and  half  way  to  the 
mainland  before  poor  Tom,  winded  already,  staggered 
out  upon  the  leeward  beach.  Here  Bertie  and  I  headed 
him  off  and  took  him  out  of  the  race  to  save  his  strength 
for  the  trials  of  the  afternoon.  The  natives,  appearing 
to  figure  the  importance  of  a  race  in  direct  proportion 
to  its  length,  beat  their  hollow-log  drums  and  sang 
chesty,  sonorous  war  chants  all  through  the  rest  hour  in 
celebration  of  this  victory. 

While  Bertie  was  winning  the  cricket  ball- throwing 
contest — a  competition  in  which  he  substituted  for  me 
who  had  originally  qualified  for  it — I  essayed  to  give 
the  Fijians  an  exhibition  of  hammer-throwing,  an  event 
with  which  they  were  still  unfamiliar.  In  the  absence 
of  a  regulation  hammer,  a  network  of  fibre  was  woven 
around  the  twenty-pound  cannon  ball,  and  into  this 
mesh  the  end  of  a  three-foot  strand  of  coco-husk  rope 
was  fixed.  This  contrivance  looked  decidedly  flimsy 
and,  as  presently  transpired,  did  not  belie  its  appearance. 
It  held  together  for  a  couple  of  tentative  tosses  and  even 
through  the  preliminary  swings  of  a  real  throw;  but 
when  I  whirled  into  the  first  circle  of  what  was  to  have 
been  a  triple  turn  the  fibrous  mesh  gave  way  and,  while 
I  did  a  double  back  somersault,  the  ponderous  old  mis- 
sile went  hurtling  through  the  air  and  banged  against 
the  side  of  the  great  council  house.  The  stout  wall  was 
not  breached,  but  a  muffled  crash  told  of  havoc  among 
the  tribal  relics  which  adorned  the  interior.  A  few  min- 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  311 

utes  later  the  Mbuli,  who  with  several  of  the  elders  had 
hurried  to  investigate,  emerged  with  a  baleful  look  on 
his  face  to  announce  that  the  great  yanggona  bowl,  out 
of  the  sacred  depths  of  which  kava  had  been  served 
even  to  the  great  Thakambau  himself,  was  split  across 
the  middle  from  a  fall  to  the  floor. 

The  Fijians  appeared  rather  awed  at  the  magnitude 
of  the  catastrophe,  but  the  unquenchable  Bertie,  after 
placing  his  "field"  for  the  cricket  match,  called  out  to 
the  Mbuli  to  ask  if  it  did  not  seem  like  old  times  to 
have  the  walls  of  Mbau  battered  down  by  cannon 
balls. 

The  one-inning  cricKet  game  was  a  Caucasian  walk- 
over. The  dazzling  work  of  Tom  and  Bertie,  who  al- 
ternated between  bowling  and  wicket-keeping,  retired 
man  after  man  with  a  "goose-egg,"  and,  in  spite  of  the 
scant  and  inexperienced  "field," — myself — had  the  be- 
wildered Fijians  all  out  for  less  than  two  score  of  runs. 
This  total  the  versatile  pair,  batting  in  partnership,  ex- 
ceeded in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Acknowledging  that  they  were  outclassed  in  cricket, 
the  Fijians  now  demanded  that  a  game  of  soccer  foot- 
ball be  played  upon  the  same  terms — a  full  team  of  them 
to  the  three  of  us — and  to  this  proposal  the  game  Bertie, 
displaying  better  sportsmanship  than  judgment,  con- 
sented. Of  course,  after  a  severe  buffeting  which  left 
us  all  rather  groggy  and  winded  for  the  boxing  con- 
tests, the  Fijians  won. 

On  any  kind  of  a  system  of  scoring  we  had  a  lead  of 
three  victories  at  this  juncture,  and  should,  therefore, 
only  been  liable  to  a  tie  by  losing  all  of  the  three  box- 
ing contests.  The  natives,  however,  contending  that 


312  IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  winning  of  the  Marathon  was  equal  to  a  half-dozen 
ordinary  events,  insisted  that  they  were  at  least  on  even 
terms  with  us.  Again  our  complaisant  captain,  pulling 
on  his  gloves  for  the  first  bout — the  lightweight — 
waived  the  point  and  agreed  to  let  the  three  boxing  con- 
tests decide  the  day.  Five  seconds  later,  guarding  care- 
lessly in  backing  away  from  a  clinch,  Bertie  left  a  wide 
opening,  driving  into  which  with  a  well-timed  short- 
arm  jolt,  his  stocky  opponent  landed  on  the  point  of  the 
lad's  chin  and  stretched  him  limp — a  clean  knockout — 
on  the  turf  of  the  village  green. 

Tom,  who  boxed  almost  as  well  as  he  swam,  rushed 
his  man — the  shifty  youth  who  had  defeated  the  Hon- 
ourable Bertie  in  the  high- jump — from  the  beat  of  the 
war-drum  which  was  doing  service  as  a  gong,  and  had 
him  so  groggy  at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  minutes  that 
the  bewildered  fellow  started  to  slug  one  of  his  own 
fuzzy-headed  seconds.  He  was  led  off  to  escape  fur- 
ther useless  punishment,  leaving  the  issue  of  the  day  up 
to  the  heavyweight  bout,  with  me  as  the  "White  Hope." 

The  ponderously-limbed  Goliath,  whom  the  Fijians 
led  out  like  a  blue-ribbon  bull  at  a  stock  show  at  this 
juncture,  had  been  kept  out  of  sight  all  day,  evidently 
through  fear  of  awakening  a  protest  on  our  part.  He 
was  one  mass  of  hair  and  rolling  muscles  from  head  to 
heel  and  needed  only  a  knotted  war-club  to  complete 
the  illusion  of  having  stepped  out  of  the  Stone  Age 
upon  the  green  of  Mbau. 

"Just  such  a  cannibal  as  old  Thakambau  must  have 
had  for  a  Lord  High  Executioner,"  I  told  myself,  and 
shuddered  at  the  thought. 

Of  course,  I  knew  that  he  could  not  box;  but  it  was 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  313 

also  equally  plain  that  nothing  less  than  a  charge  of 
dynamite  could  have  any  effect  upon  his  iron-ribbed 
frame.  I  stood  regarding  him  with  dismay  as  Tom — 
they  were  still  fanning  the  prostrate  Bertie  with  a  taro 
leaf — began  to  tie  on  my  gloves. 

"They've  put  up  a  game  on  us,"  he  said  quietly,  try- 
ing to  knead  the  padding  away  from  over  the  knuckles 
of  my  left  hand.  "That  chap's  a  hard  nut,  and  they've 
brought  him  over  from  Rewa  just  because  Bertie  was 
telling  them  that  you  were  the  champion  of  America. 
It's  a  dirty  trick,  but  it'll  only  start  a  row  if  we  try  to 
call  the  turn.  Go  ahead  as  if  nothing  was  wrong,  but 
be  sure  and  not  try  any  in-fighting.  Then  we'll  at  least 
get  a  draw  out  of  it.  I'll  tell  you  about  him  later. 
Now  don't  forget.  Keep  clear!" 

It  was  with  that  sound  injunction  well  in  mind  that 
I  stepped  out  to  where  the  glowering  gorilla  was  wait- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  circle. 

For  a  few  seconds  we  stared  stupidly  at  each  other, 
and  then,  because  I  was  too  nervous  to  stand  still,  I  be- 
gan dancing  around  my  stolid  opponent.  He  followed 
me  with  his  eyes,  owl  fashion,  not  moving  his  huge,  flat 
feet  until  I  was  almost  behind  him. 

"He's  slower  even  than  I  thought,"  I  told  myself,  and 
began  to  feel  better. 

After  prancing  in  a  couple  of  circles  without  making 
my  burly  antagonist  do  more  than  mark  time  to  keep 
me  in  eye-sweep,  I  plucked  up  courage  and,  stepping  in 
quickly,  drove  for  his  prognathous  jaw.  Without  the 
flicker  of  an  eyelash,  he  bent  his  great  neck  and  took 
the  blow  in  the  depths  of  his  woolly  hair.  Hardly  did 
he  seem  to  need  to  brace  himself,  so  completely  was  the 


314     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

force  taken  up  in  this  natural  shock-absorber.  To 
sharp  hooks  in  the  ribs  and  upper  abdomen  he  replied 
in  the  same  passive  way,  ducking  his  head  whether  I 
led  for  the  face  or  not.  With  a  chest  like  the  bulge  of 
a  steam  boiler  and  three  inches  of  corrugated  iron 
muscles  armouring  his  solar  plexus,  there  was  no  need 
of  guarding  anything  but  his  face,  and  this  he  did  by 
the  simple  expedient  of  putting  out  his  foot-deep  shock 
of  matted  hair  every  time  I  made  a  feint  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

"The  dolt  is  no  more  than  a  human  punching-bag," 
I  told  myself ;  "but  even  a  punching-bag  has  been  known 
to  break  if  hammered  long  enough,"  forthwith  begin- 
ning to  try  the  effect  of  persistent  hammering.  Scored 
as  a  sparring  contest,  I  would  have  won  the  decision  by 
a  hundred  points  to  nil,  for  the  stolid  monster  seemed 
perfectly  content  to  let  me  circle  around  him  and  hit  al- 
most when  and  where  I  pleased.  But  we  were  fighting 
under  Fijian  rules,  which  hold  that  the  contest,  undi- 
vided by  rounds,  shall  continue  until  one  of  the  parties 
is  unwilling,  or  unable,  to  go  on.  Now  and  then,  when 
I  would  hook  a  stiff  jolt  in  under  the  fringe  of  his  mop 
to  the  side  of  the  neck,  he  would  wince  a  bit,  but  most 
of  the  time  he  simply  stood  with  bowed  head  and  set 
muscles  and  let  me  pound  away.  It  may  be  that  my 
blows  lacked  steam  after  my  long  day  of  unwonted  ex- 
ertion under  the  tropical  sun,  or  it  may  be  that  the 
hulking  frame,  with  its  armour  of  knotted  muscles,  was 
damage-proof  as  long  as  the  jaw  was  protected.  One 
thing  was  certain,  at  any  rate, — the  only  effect  of  my 
frenzied  hammering  was  to  tire  myself  out  without 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  315 

discomfiting,  or  even,  apparently,  annoying  my  burly 
opponent  in  the  least. 

"Take  it  easy  to  sunset  and  we'll  call  it  off  for  a 
draw,"  muttered  Tom  behind  me  as  I  stepped  back  to 
get  my  breath  after  beating  a  sounding  tattoo  of  right 
and  left  hooks  in  a  vain  effort  to  jar  the  armoured  solar 
plexus  of  the  Cave  Man. 

It  was  sound  advice  and  I  should  probably  have 
followed  it  had  not  the  Honourable  Bertie — he  had 
been  brought  to  a  few  minutes  previously  and  was  just 
awakening  to  an  interest  in  his  surroundings — cut  in 
with  "Don't  quit.  Step  in  close  and  uppercut  straight 
up  for  his  face.  Remember  you're  the  'White  Hope.'  "~ 

There  certainly  did  seem  room  to  slip  one  up  between 
the  dome  of  the  swelling  chest  and  the  fringes  of  the 
hair-mop  that  would  do  some  damage,  provided  one 
only  went  in  close  enough,  and,  without  stopping  to 
ponder  the  possible  consequences,  I  stepped  forward 
and  drove  a  hard  right  uppercut,  just  as  Bertie  had  sug- 
gested. Smash !  My  glove  landed  squarely  in  the  mid- 
dle of  Cave  Man's  face,  straightening  him  up  with  a 
jerk  and  offering  the  very  opening  for  the  jaw  that  I 
had  awaited  ever  since  the  bout  began.  I  was  just 
starting  a  left  hook  of  which  I  entertained  high  hopes, 
when,  closely  following  the  roar  of  pain  and  rage  which 
signalized  the  landing  of  my  right,  something  swift  and 
terrific  as  a  Bolt  of  Wrath  came  hurtling  against  my 
jaw,  an  explosion  like  the  Crack  of  Doom  rang  in  my 
ears,  and — I  came  to  some  hours  later  to  find  a  sedate- 
looking  Fijian  lady  in  sombre  black — the  Mbuli's  wife 
— massaging  my  bruised  face  with  one  hand  and  holding 


316     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

a  Bible  from  which  she  was  reading  in  the  other.  An 
austere-faced  white  woman,  whom  I  thought  I  recog- 
nized as  the  missionary's  wife,  was  renewing  a  turtle- 
steak  poultice  upon  one  of  the  Honourable  Bertie's  rain- 
bow-coloured optics,  while  a  Fijian  in  a  long  coat  and 
black  sulu  was  kneading  out  the  cramp-knotted  muscles 
in  Tom's  overworked  calves.  The  three  of  us  were  in 
the  little  mission  hospital. 

"The  Reverend  B—  -  and  his  wife  have  been  work- 
ing over  you  since  sundown,"  said  Bertie  thickly  through 
a  bandage.  "In  fact,  they've  been  very  kind  to  all  of 
us  in  the  matter  of  lending  'first  aid.'  We've  apolo- 
gized for  stirring  up  all  this  jolly  rumpus  here,  and  Tom 
and  I  have  promised  to  leave  with  you  for  Suva  as  soon 
as  you're  able  to  travel.  It  may  comfort  you  a  bit,  old 

chap,  to  know  that  the  Reverend  B has  just  gone 

over  to  set  the  nose  of  your  late  opponent.  Perhaps 
you  don't  remember  that  you  landed  a  tap  just  before 
he  hit  you." 

"Oh,  that  was  what  it  was,"  I  said  with  a  sigh  of  com- 
prehension, sinking  back  upon  the  pillows.  "I  thought 
some  one  had  been  practising  with  the  twenty-pound 
hammer  again." 

The  last  thing  I  recall  before  dropping  off  to  sleep 
was  the  sound  of  singing  and  beaten  war-drums  welling 
up  from  the  village  green.  "The  Fijians  celebrate  the 
triumph  of  the  Polynesian,"  explained  Bertie  in  an- 
swer to  my  look  of  inquiry.  "That  chant  is  one  they 
used  to  sing  on  returning  from  a  successful  foray  laden 
with  the  heads  of  many  enemies.  They  seem  to  trace 
some  similarity  between  the  two  occasions." 

On  the  way  back  to  Suva  Tom  told  me  about  the 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  817 

Cave  Man.  "The  chap  is  probably  the  strongest  man 
in  Fiji,"  he  said,  "and  as  stupid  as  he  is  powerful. 
Several  years  ago  one  of  the  Australian  overseers  at 
the  Rewa  sugar  plantation  took  him  in  hand  and  taught 
him  that  trick  of  protecting  his  face  by  turning  down 
his  hair-mop,  and  since  then  he  has  stood  up  against 
the  champion  heavyweight  of  every  warship  that  has 
come  to  Suva  without  being  knocked  out.  Several  of 
the  careless  ones  have  fared  quite  as  badly  as  you  did, 
and  one  of  them,  who  had  floored  him  with  a  lucky  poke, 
he  later  got  hold  of,  threw  down  and  started  to  chew 
to  pieces.  That  broken  nose  you  gave  him  was  the 
worst  damage  he  ever  received,  and  he  would  probably 
have  started  a  cannibal  feast  off  your  limp  anatomy 
if  the  Mbuli  and  the  rest  of  us  hadn't  crowded  him 
off." 

The  Roku  Kandavu  Levu  came  to  Suva  shortly  be- 
fore our  departure  and  paid  us  several  visits  on  the 
yacht.  We  found  him  a  most  engaging  and  likable  fel- 
low and  an  especial  enthusiast  on  yachting.  He  is  a 
graduate  of  the  University  of  Sydney,  and  in  speech, 
manners,  tastes — in  everything,  in  fact,  but  colour,  hair 
and  dress — is  thoroughly  British.  His  yacht,  a  fine  40- 
footer  which  he  sails  himself,  is  the  fastest  craft  in  the 
islands.  He  displayed  great  interest  in  our  cruise,  and 
expressed  himself  as  determined  to  build  a  staunch 
schooner  and  embark  on  a  similar  one  as  soon  as  oppor- 
tunity offered. 

The  Roku's  dress  is  a  unique  compromise  between 
the  native  and  the  foreign.  He  wears  the  shirt,  collar, 
tie  and  coat,  and  carries  the  inevitable  stick,  of  the  Brit- 


318     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

isher,  but  goes  bare-footed  and  covers  his  legs  with  noth- 
ing but  the  common  native  sulu,  a  yard  and  a  half  of 
print  which  is  tucked  in  at  the  waist  and  falls  to  the 
knees.  From  the  waist  up  he  is  apparelled  faultlessly 
enough  to  parade  Piccadilly  or  Broadway;  from  the 
waist  down  carelessly  enough  to  suit  the  laziest  Kanaka 
that  ever  lolled  away  a  noonday  under  a  coconut  tree. 
It  was  the  latter  portion  of  his  "combination  suit"  which 
came  near  to  causing  serious  trouble  on  the  occasion  of 
his  first  visit  to  Lurline. 

From  the  hour  of  our  arrival  in  Suva  harbour  the 
sailors  had  been  much  bothered  in  their  work  by  an 
endless  succession  of  fruit  peddlers  and  curio  venders 
who  made  the  sale  of  their  stocks  an  excuse  for  loafing 
about  the  yacht.  The  Commodore  was  finally  forced  to 
order  that  there  should  be  no  more  visiting  by  unac- 
credited natives  except  during  the  noon  hour  and  early 
in  the  evening,  the  enforcement  of  which  ruling  was 
being  looked  after  by  the  mate  with  great  enthusiasm. 
By  the  free  use  of  his  glass  and  megaphone  and  his  rap- 
idly expanding  vocabulary  of  "Beche-de-Mer"  English 
he  had,  to  his  great  pride  and  satisfaction,  succeeded  in 
keeping  intruders  at  a  distance  for  several  days,  so  that 
it  was  with  no  ordinary  rush  of  indignation  that  he 
greeted,  one  busy  afternoon,  the  sight  of  a  pair  of  mus- 
cular brown  legs  moving  leisurely  by  a  port— the  mate 
was  below  at  the  time — as  they  carried  their  owner  up 
the  brass-railed  starboard  gangway,  which,  incidentally, 
was  especially  tabu  for  natives. 

At  the  same  moment  that  a  deep-chested  roar  of 
"Hare,  you  dam'd  Kanaka!"  came  booming  out  upon 
the  still  afternoon  air,  the  Commodore  was  beaming 


IN  SUVA  AND  MBAU  319 

welcome  from  the  head  of  the  gangway  to  the  stately 
head  and  shoulders  of  the  handsome  and  dignified  Roku 
Kandavu  Levu  who,  escorted  by  several  prominent  Brit- 
ish officials,  had  come  off  in  the  Governor's  launch  for 
his  initial  call.  We  managed  to  check  the  rush  of  the 
infuriated  mate  at  the  foot  of  the  cabin  companionway 
and  sober  him  with  some  forceful  pantomime  and  a  peep 
at  the  Governor's  launch  through  a  convenient  port,  but 
the  echo  of  that  "Hare,  you  damfd  Kanaka!"  kept  ring- 
ing in  our  ears  through  the  whole  fifteen  minutes  of  an 
unusually  stiff  call. 

We  never  learned  whether  or  not  the  Roku  compre- 
hended for  whom  the  mate's  forcible  orders  were  in- 
tended, but  if  he  failed  to  discern  that  they  were  aimed 
at  his  royal  self  it  was  largely  due  to  the  resourceful 
Claribel's  cheerful  chirrup  of  "The  worthy  Chief  seems 
to  be  having  more  trouble  than  usual  with  curio  venders 
today.  Speaking  of  curios — won't  Your  Highness 
please  tell  me  if  this  shark's  tooth  necklace  which  I 
bought  yesterday  is  really  genuine?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


"SHARKS" 


"MAN-EATERS  on  land,  man-eaters  in  the  water;  for 
God's  sake  steer  clear  of  the  Fijis!"  was  the  way  in 
which  trading  captains  of  forty  years  ago  epitomized 
their  warnings  to  those  who  expressed  a  desire  to  visit 
Taviuni  or  Levuka. 

Though  man-eating  on  land  has  become  a  languishing 
if  not  a  lost  art  in  this  neck  of  the  tropics,  that  the  prac- 
tice by  the  denizens  of  the  deep  is  still  carried  on  is 
attested  by  the  number  of  stump-armed  and  stump- 
legged  natives  that  one  meets  in  all  parts  of  the  Fijis. 
Yet  in  spite  of  the  swarms  of  sharks  that  exist  there — 
"You  can  throw  a  stuck  pig  over  in  the  bay  and  five 
minutes  later  walk  ashore  dry  shod  on  black  dorsal 
fins,"  the  mate  of  a  trader  at  Suva  told  me — they  are 
exceedingly  whimsical  in  their  appetites  and  keep  one 
at  his  wit's  end  devising  baits  that  will  tempt  them. 

They  had  told  us  in  Samoa  that  Suva  Bay  was  a 
sharks'  nest,  and  graphic  verification  was  furnished  on 
the  morning  following  our  arrival.  It  had  been  the 
practice  of  the  Commodore  and  myself,  in  all  the  har- 
bours we  had  visited  up  to  this  point,  both  in  the  North 
and  South  Pacific,  to  begin  the  day  with  a  morning 
plunge  over  the  rail,  a  practice  which,  though  not  rec- 
ommended by  the  old  residents,  we  had  never  deemed 
sufficiently  hazardous  to  warrant  denying  ourselves  the 
refreshing  pleasure  of.  Neither  of  us  had  been  threat- 


"SHARKS"  321 

ened  by  a  shark,  and  only  three  or  four  lurking  black 
fins  had  been  seen  around  any  of  the  yacht's  anchorages. 
So  it  was  with  no  misgivings  that  I,  drowsy  with  sleep, 
pulled  on  my  bathing  suit  the  first  morning  in  Suva 
and  plunged  over  the  rail  in  a  deep-eye-opening  dive. 
I  will  let  the  Commodore's  journal  tell  what  followed, 
my  own  recollections  being  somewhat  confused. 

"Three  or  four  seconds  after  the  Weather  Observer 
dived,  I  saw  him  come  sputtering  up  through  the  water, 
gain  the  starboard  gangway  in  a  succession  of  wild 
lunges,  come  clambering  aboard  and  collapse,  speech- 
less with  consternation,  on  a  cockpit  transom.  Simul- 
taneously, a  great  shaft  of  greenish  white  shot  like  a 
meteor  under  the  stern,  and  an  instant  later  a  chorus 
of  excited  yells  broke  out  on  the  deck  of  the  Wanaka, 
the  Australian  mailboat  which  had  come  in  during  the 
night  and  anchored  half  a  cable's  length  beyond  us. 
The  commotion  was  caused  by  the  hooking  on  a  line 
dangling  from  the  steamer's  stern  of  a  huge  'tiger' 
shark,  a  monster  so  heavy  that  it  required  lines  from 
two  steam  winches  to  land  its  floundering  twenty  feet 
of  length  upon  the  deck. 

"The  Weather  Observer  could  never  explain  any- 
thing beyond  the  fact  that,  on  approaching  the  surface, 
he  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  round,  greenish  blur, 
lighter  in  colour  than  the  water,  increasing  in  size  at  a 
prodigous  rate,  and  forthwith,  being  seized  with  terror, 
got  back  on  the  yacht  with  the  loss  of  as  little  time  as 
possible.  We  have  always  supposed  that  the  shark, 
balked  in  its  rush  for  a  bite  of  man,  sought  solace  in 
bolting  the  hunk  of  salt  beef  on  the  end  of  the  Wanaka  s 
line,  as  not  five  seconds  elapsed  between  one  event  and 


322     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  other.  A  sailor  on  the  poop  of  the  Wanaka,  who 
was  about  to  shout  a  warning  to  us  regarding  the  dan- 
ger of  bathing  overside,  followed  the  course  of  the  shark 
from  where  it  shot  under  the  stern  of  the  yacht  to  the 
hook  which  brought  it  to  grief."  The  rest  of  our  bath- 
ing in  Suva  Bay  was  done  with  the  aid  of  a  sailor  and  a 
water  bucket. 

It  was  in  a  spirit  of  revenge  for  the  fright  given  me 
on  this  occasion  that  I  spent  a  good  portion  of  our  stay 
in  Fiji  on  punitive  expeditions  against  sharks,  incident 
to  which  I  learned  a  good  deal  regarding  the  ways  of  the 
"tiger  of  the  sea"  that  otherwise  would  not  have  come 
under  my  observation. 

De  gustibus  non  est  disputandum  is  a  truth  of  wide 
application,  holding  good  no  less  generally  in  the  ani- 
mal kingdom  than  in  that  of  man,  and  in  neither  more 
forcibly  than  in  sharkdom.  What  is  one  shark's  meat 
is  quite  likely  to  be  another  shark's  poison,  and  because 
a  certain  bait  is  sauce  for  the  voracious  "man-eater"  of 
Suva  Bay,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  sauce  for  his 
epicurean  cousin  of  Pago  Pago. 

Regarding  the  tastes  of  sharks  of  any  one  locality,  it 
is  usually  possible  to  speak  more  definitely,  but  still 
with  no  degree  of  certainty,  and  even  the  likes  and  dis- 
likes of  a  single  known  individual  cannot  be  pinned 
down  and  charted  as  with  square  and  compass.  This 
latter  fact  was  well  borne  out  by  the  action  of  a  grizzly 
old  fifteen-footer — identified  by  the  rusty  stump  of  a 
harpoon  planted  just  aft  his  dorsal — which  I  chanced 
to  observe  one  day  while  fishing  on  one  of  the  reefs 
that  hem  in  Suva  Bay.  The  natives  pointed  him  out 
to  me  as  he  nosed  his  way  about  among  the  other  sharks 


"SHARKS"  323 

that  were  nibbling  gingerly  at  the  outside  corners  of 
tempting  hunks  of  salt  beef  lowered  for  their  delecta- 
tion, and  said  that  this  was  the  seventh  year  that  they 
had  fished  for  him,  using  everything  from  "charmed" 
coconuts  and  shiny  tomato  cans  to  plucked  gulls  and 
live  sucking-pigs,  without  ever  coming  near  to  landing 
him. 

"No  one  has  ever  seen  him  so  much  as  smell  the 
bait,"  said  one  of  my  fuzzy-headed  companions,  "and 
from  that  we  know  that  he  must  be  tabu.  Now  we  no 
longer  give  him  notice,  for  we  understand  that  he  must 
be  fed  and  protected  by  the  Evil  Ones." 

Hardly  were  these  words  spoken  before  the  great 
harpooned  tail  of  the  wily  monster  in  question  gave  a 
vigorous  swish,  a  smooth,  mouse-coloured  body  shot  up 
through  the  water,  and  two  triple  rows  of  gleaming 
ivory  opened  and  closed  upon — nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  bare  hook  that  its  owner  was  pulling  up  for  re- 
baiting  after  it  had  been  dextrously  stripped  by  the 
"sleight-of -mouth"  performance  of  some  member  of  the 
ruck  down  among  the  pink  coral. 

Yet  the  general  trend  of  the  gastronomic  preferences 
of  the  sharks  of  any  single  bay,  or  island,  or  even  group 
of  islands,  is  usually  understood  sufficiently  well  for  all 
practical  purposes,  and  if  the  natives  or  old  European 
residents  advise  against  bathing  in  certain  localities,  it 
is  best  not  to  take  the  chance.  In  few  parts  of  the 
South  Pacific  are  sharks  more  plentiful  than  around 
Mbau,  the  old  native  capital  of  Fiji,  but  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  natives,  whether  engaged  in  fishing  or  tur- 
tle-catching, or  merely  swimming  for  pleasure,  expose 
themselves  constantly  in  the  waters  infested  by  these 


324    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

monsters,  loss  of  life  from  that  source  is  rarely  heard  of. 

It  was  while  I  was  "convalescing"  from  the  effects  of 
the  field-day  with  the  natives  of  Mbau,  of  which  I  wrote 
in  the  last  chapter,  that  I  was  sitting  in  the  shade  of 
the  veranda  of  the  Roku's  bungalow,  watching  with 
no  little  enjoyment  the  antics  of  a  big  band  of  supremely 
happy  youngsters  who  were  disporting  themselves  in 
the  limpid  waters  that  lapped  the  sea-wall  at  that  point. 
Presently  a  number  of  men  came  down  to  the  wall, 
straightened  out  the  coils  of  some  heavy  lines,  baited  up 
a  lot  of  big  chain-leadered  hooks,  and  began  hurling 
them  into  the  sea  but  a  few  yards  from  where  the  boys 
were  swimming. 

"Wake  up!"  I  shouted  to  my  young  friend,  Tom 

B ,  giving  his  hammock  a  vigorous  shake.  "Isn't  it 

rather  a  risky  business  throwing  shark-hooks  in  where  a 
lot  of  naked  boys  are  swimming?  What  if  they  should 
snag  one  of  the  youngsters?" 

"BoysV  all  right,"  came  in  a  muffled  yawn  from  un- 
der B—  -'s  palm-leaf  hat.  "Those  chaps  aren't  fish- 
ing for  boys;  only  fishing  for  sharks." 

"Sharks!"  I  scoffed.  "Sharks  in  there  where  those 
boys  are  swimming!  Wake  up,  young  man;  you're 
talking  in  your  sleep !" 

Thus  admonished,  B sat  up,  yawned,  stretched 

himself,  cracked  a  coconut,  took  several  long  draughts 
of  its  cool  contents,  and  finally  explained  that,  as  a 
rule,  sharks  along  the  windward  shore  of  Vita  Levu  did 
not  care  much  for  boys,  especially  near  those  localities, 
like  Mbau,  where  it  was  the  custom  to  fish  for  them 
daily  with  succulent  hunks  of  salt  pork. 

Sharks  are  fairly  numerous  in  all  of  the  ports  visited 


FIJIAN  BOYS  BOXING 


"SHARKS"  325 

by  the  ships  which  carry  the  mail  from  New  Zealand 
and  Australia  to  the  islands  of  the  Southwestern  Pa- 
cific, and  it  is  rarely  that  one  of  these  steamers  is  seen 
at  anchor  without  from  one  to  half  a  dozen  lines  dan- 
gling from  its  stern.  Watching  a  shark  line  is  a  tedious 
business,  but  it  is  strictly  necessary  in  order  that  the 
fisherman  may  know  when  the  monster  is  hooked.  Oth- 
erwise, its  frantic  rushes,  if  allowed  to  go  unchecked,  are 
pretty  sure  to  cause  some  part  of  the  line,  leader,  or 
even  a  portion  of  its  own  anatomy  to  give  way,  result- 
ing in  its  escape.  The  school-boy's  scheme  of  tying  the 
line  around  the  big  toe  and  going  to  sleep  would  prob- 
ably work  all  right  as  far  as  rousing  the  fisherman  was 
concerned,  but  the  sequel  might  not  leave  him  in  a  con- 
dition to  give  undivided  attention  to  landing  his  prize. 
To  this  end  the  sailors  of  the  mail-boats  have  hit  on  an 
ingenious  plan.  Instead  of  taking  in  their  lines  when 
the  dinner  gong  sounds  or  when,  for  any  reason,  they 
are  on  duty  elsewhere,  they  run  a  stout  piece  of  marlin 
twine  from  the  shark-line  up  to  the  steam  whistle,  leav- 
ing it  for  the  "man-eater"  himself  to  announce  the 
event  of  his  being  hooked  by  sounding  a  toot. 

I  regret  to  have  to  tell  that  the  inventor  of  this  clever 
time-saving  expedient,  a  purser  of  the  steamship 
Taviuni,  came  near  to  losing  his  position  as  the  result 
of  his  first  experimental  trial.  This  came  about 
through  his  faulty  judgment  in  running  the  main  line 
— instead  of  the  comparatively  light  twine  now  em- 
ployed for  that  connection — up  to  the  whistle.  The 
latter  gave  forth  a  brave  toot  in  response  to  the  jerk 
of  the  big  "tiger"  at  the  other  end  of  the  line,  but  the 
blast  was  in  the  nature  of  a  swan-song.  An  instant 


326     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

later,  with  a  parting  shriek  of  agony,  the  whole  of  the 
whistling  mechanism  was  wrenched  from  the  funnel, 
and,  carrying  a  string  of  hammocks  and  the  binnacle- 
stand  along  with  it,  vanished  overboard,  spinning  like 
a  taffrail  log  in  the  wake  of  the  flying  shark.  The 
Taviuni  did  most  of  her  whistling  with  a  foghorn  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  that  voyage. 

The  natives  seem  to  swim  about  in  comparative  safety 
in  the  shoal  waters  of  Suva  Bay,  but  the  Europeans  pre- 
fer to  keep  on  the  safe  side  by  taking  their  dips  in 
"bathing  pens."  An  amusing  story  is  told  at  the  Fiji 
Club  of  a  certain  visiting  naval  officer  who  took  a  dive 
into  one  of  the  bathing  enclosures  at  a  time  that  it  was 
occupied  by  a  fourteen-foot  "man-eater."  The  "pen" 
was  a  thirty-by-thirty  railed-in  space  on  the  shore  of  the 
bay  near  where  a  small  river  came  down,  and  was  built 
with  the  ostensible  purpose,  not  of  keeping  sharks  in,  but 
of  keeping  them  out.  The  combination  of  a  flood  and 
an  unusually  high  tide,  however,  covered  the  top  rail  to  a 
depth  of  a  couple  of  feet  or  more,  and  during  the  pe- 
riod of  submergence  the  big  shark  in  some  manner  nosed 
his  way  in,  to  be  left  a  captive  when  the  water  sub- 
sided. The  water  of  the  pen  was  murky  from  the 
flood  discharge  of  the  river,  but  there  was  nothing  in  its 
dull  translucence  to  awaken  suspicion  in  the  minds  of 
the  half-dozen  officers  of  a  visiting  gunboat  who,  hot 
and  tired  from  a  ride  into  the  interior,  were  preparing 
for  a  dip. 

The  officer  in  question — a  man  noted  for  his  nervous 
haste  in  doing  things — was  well  ahead  of  the  others  in 
stripping  for  his  plunge,  a  circumstance  that  was  en- 
tirely responsible  for  his  having  to  bear  alone  the  shock 


"SHARKS"  327 

of  the  discovery  that  the  pen  was  already  occupied. 
With  a  snort  of  contempt  for  the  slowness  of  his  com- 
panions, he  sprang  from  the  rocks  and  disappeared  un- 
der the  cool  water  in  a  long,  deep  dive.  An  instant 
later  the  pen  was  a  vortex  of  foam,  in  the  midst  of  which 
whirled  the  white  shoulders  of  the  commander,  and 
through  which  cut  with  lightning  flashes  the  black  dor- 
sal and  tail  fins  of  the  threshing  shark. 

Yelling  like  a  Fijian  war-dancer,  the  frightened 
swimmer  reached  the  outer  palings  at  the  end  of  half 
a  dozen  desperate  overhand  strokes,  clambered  over  the 
barrier,  tumbled  into  the  water  beyond,  and,  wide-eyed 
with  terror,  started  lunging  right  off  toward  the  open 
sea.  When  he  was  finally  recalled  to  shore,  he  de- 
clared that  the  pen  was  literally  alive  with  sharks,  and 
not  even  after  the  luckless  "man-eater,"  riddled  with 
bullets  and  bristling  with  the  wooden  harpoons  of  some 
Fijian  fishermen,  was  hauled  out  on  the  beach,  could 
he  be  made  to  believe  that  the  score  or  more  of  its  fel- 
lows among  which  he  imagined  he  had  plunged  had  not 
escaped.  Inasmuch  as  a  frightened  shark  has  never 
been  known  to  touch  even  a  piece  of  raw  beef,  the  im- 
petuous officer  was  hardly  in  real  danger  of  anything  but 
heart  failure  and  a  slap  or  two  from  the  monster's  tail. 

The  fact  that  the  popular  observations  of  the  ways  of 
sharks  are  largely  limited  to  their  dilly-dallyings  around 
baited  hooks  is  responsible  for  the  very  general  belief 
that  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  turn  on  their  backs  before 
taking  food  into  their  mouths.  Eating  from  pieces  of 
meat  suspended  on  a  line  does  not  represent  the  normal 
condition  under  which  the  shark  feeds,  and  to  regard  as 
characteristic  the  attitude  he  assumes  in  such  circum- 


328    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

stances  is  as  unreasonable  as  similarly  to  class  the  antics 
of  a  man  trying  to  take  a  bite  from  an  apple  on  a  string 
at  a  Hallowe'en  party.  Even  when  a  piece  of  meat  is 
free  from  the  hook,  and  the  shark  is  satiated  or  sus- 
picious, he  will  often  roll  over  and  let  it  settle  down  gen- 
tly in  his  mouth,  but  this  is  not  because  he  is  physically 
unable  to  do  the  trick  otherwise.  Throw  a  piece  of  red 
beef  between  three  or  four  hungry  "tigers,"  and  you 
will  be  pretty  sure  to  see  the  quickest  of  them  snap  it 
out  of  sight  with  only  the  slightest  listing  of  his  body 
to  one  side  or  the  other.  Sharks  turn  slightly  in  feed- 
ing for  exactly  the  same  reason  that  people  turn  their 
head  slightly  in  kissing — because  their  noses  would  get 
in  the  way  if  they  didn't — but  to  claim  that  the  one  must 
turn  on  its  back  to  eat  is  as  absurd  as  to  maintain  that 
the  other  must  stand  on  his  head  to  kiss. 

Shark  skin,  shark  teeth,  shark  oil,  shark  meat,  and 
several  other  by-products  of  the  dead  shark  are  articles 
of  greater  or  lesser  utility,  but  I  heard  an  old  trader  in 
Fiji  tell  of  where  the  living  shark  was  once  put  to  a 
practical  use.  This  was  when  they  used  him  as  a  prison 
guard  in  the  old  days  when  British  convicts  were  trans- 
ported to  Australia,  the  monsters  serving  this  purpose 
for  many  years  at  the  Port  Arthur  settlement,  ten  miles 
south  of  Hobart,  the  present  capital  of  Tasmania.  The 
prisons  at  this  point,  some  of  which  may  still  be  seen, 
were  situated  upon  a  peninsula  whose  only  connection 
with  the  mainland  was  by  a  long,  narrow  strip  of  sand 
called,  from  its  configuration,  the  "Eaglehawk's  Neck." 

The  convicts  were  allowed  considerable  liberty  upon 
the  peninsula,  but  to  prevent  their  escape  to  the  main- 
land half-starved  bloodhounds  were  chained  all  the  way 


"SHARKS"  329 

across  the  narrowest  portion  of  the  "Neck."  Several 
prisoners  having  avoided  the  "bloodhound  zone"  by 
swimming,  the  prison  authorities  adopted  the  gruesome 
but  effective  expedient  of  feeding  the  sharks  at  that 
point  several  times  a  day.  In  a  few  weeks  the  place 
became  literally  alive  with  the  voracious  "man-eaters," 
and  from  that  time  on  the  only  convict  who  ever  escaped 
accomplished  his  purpose  by  rolling  himself  up  in  kelp 
and  working  along,  inch  by  inch,  timing  his  movements 
to  correspond  with  those  of  the  other  heaps  of  seaweed 
that  were  being  rolled  by  the  surf. 

Like  all  other  leviathans  of  the  deep,  animate  and  in- 
animate, the  shark  occasionally  suffers  from  barnacles 
and  similar  marine  parasites  which  attach  themselves  to 
his  hide,  and  during  my  stay  in  Fiji  I  witnessed  the  phe- 
nomenon of  a  number  of  these  monsters,  like  so  many 
warships,  going  into  "drydock,"  as  it  were,  to  have  their 
bottoms  scraped. 

On  one  of  the  outer  reefs  of  Suva  Bay  there  is  a 
broad,  flat  ledge  of  coral,  washed  at  low  tide  by  only  a 
foot  or  two  of  water.  To  this  place  the  sharks  that 
are  troubled  with  barnacles  are  wont  to  resort,  and,  after 
picking  out  a  spot  where  their  bodies  are  just  awash, 
lie  for  hours  while  the  gently-moving  waves  rock  and 
rub  them  backwards  and  forwards  against  the  rough 
coral  of  the  reef.  This  "nature  treatment"  is  said  to 
be  most  efficacious,  and  the  spectacle  of  a  dozen  or  more 
big  "man-eaters"  dozing  contented^  as  the  warm  wa- 
ters sway  them  lazily  to  and  fro — every  now  and  then 
squirming  in  a  pleased  sort  of  way,  as  a  dog  does  when 
his  spine  is  rubbed — is  something  calculated  to  awaken, 
for  the  moment,  at  least,  a  feeling  almost  akin  to  sym- 


330    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

pathy  for  these  most  universally  dreaded  and  detested  of 
all  God's  creatures. 

Speaking  of  sympathy  for  sharks,  it  may  be  inter- 
esting to  note  that  there  does  exist  one  such  monster 
that  may  fairly  be  characterized  as  popular.  This  is 
the  famous  "Pelorus  Jack,"  who  lives  in  one  of  the 
great  southern  sounds  of  New  Zealand,  and  who  has 
not  failed  to  come  out  to  meet  a  single  steamer  visiting 
that  locality  in  the  last  twenty  years.  He  invariably 
joins  the  ship  at  the  same  point  in  the  passage,  follows 
in  its  wake  during  the  trip  about  the  sound,  taking  leave 
of  it  again  at  the  identical  spot  where  he  picked  it  up. 
His  regular  habits  have  made  him  the  subject  of  no 
small  amount  of  preferential  treatment,  not  the  least 
remarkable  of  which  is  the  greeting  and  taking  leave 
of  him  by  the  passengers  with  such  hearty  old  British 
choruses  as  "We  All  Love  Jack,"  and  "When  Jack 
Comes  Home  Again."  Tourists  always  refer  to  him 
as  "Good  Old  Pelorus,"  but  his  "goodness"  is  a  thing 
which  none  of  them  ever  appears  to  try  to  cultivate  at 
closer  quarters  than  from  behind  the  rail  of  the  poop. 

The  story  of  the  officer  who  jumped  into  the  bathing 
pen  while  it  was  occupied  by  a  shark  is  equalled  by  an- 
other, which  I  also  heard  in  Suva,  but  which  occurred 
at  Port  Darwin,  Northern  Australia.  The  bathing  en- 
closure at  the  latter  point  was  supposed  to  be  shark  and 
alligator-proof.  A  tremendous  spring  tide,  however, 
had  raised  the  water  for  several  feet  above  the  tops  of 
the  piles  of  which  the  enclosure  was  constructed,  and 
during  this  period  two  "man-eaters"  and  a  huge  alli- 
gator were  carried  inside.  There  were  no  witnesses  to 
the  hostilities  that  followed,  but  the  next  morning  early 


"SHARKS"  331 

bathers  found  several  sections  of  shark  floating  about 
the  surface  of  their  plunge,  together  with  a  slightly 
scared,  but  apparently  uninjured,  sixteen-foot  alligator. 

Mark  Twain's  story  of  the  shark  that  swallowed  a 
newspaper  in  the  Thames  and  carried  it  to  Australia  in 
advance  of  the  steamer — this  was  supposed  to  have  hap- 
pened in  the  days  before  the  cable — there  to  be  caught 
and  opened  by  Cecil  Rhodes,  who  promptly  made  his 
start  in  life  as  the  result  of  an  advance  tip  on  the  stock 
market  that  he  culled  from  the  journal,  may  be,  like  the 
newspaper  itself,  a  little  "far-fetched";  nevertheless 
those  monsters  have  been  known  to  perform  gastronomic 
feats  quite  as  remarkable  as  "swallowing"  everything 
contained  in  a  London  daily.  "Nobody  knows  what  the 
knife  will  bring  forth"  is  an  old  sailor's  expression  often 
heard  when  one  of  these  explorative  operations  is  about 
to  be  performed,  for  a  shark's  stomach  is  as  full  of  sur- 
prises as  a  "grab-bag,"  and  as  uncertain  as  a  lottery. 

The  most  remarkable  instance  I  recall  in  this  connec- 
tion is  that  of  an  enormous  "man-eater"  that  the  sailors 
of  Lurline  hooked  the  day  before  we  sailed  from  Suva. 
Besides  a  very  considerable  assortment  of  other  "indi- 
gestibles,"  they  took  from  the  stomach  of  this  leviathan 
the  skull,  still  bearing  the  stubs  of  horns  several  inches 
in  length,  of  a  full-grown  steer.  The  grisly  object  had 
undoubtedly  come  from  the  slaughter-house  dump 
farther  up  the  bay,  but  how  the  act  of  swallowing  was 
accomplished  was  more  than  we  could  figure  out.  The 
sailors  even  went  so  far  as  to  cut  away  the  jaws  of  the 
monster  and  carry  them  along  when  we  sailed,  and  dur- 
ing the  first  week  of  our  voyage  to  Honolulu  they  spent 
most  of  their  time  "off  watch"  in  vain  endeavours  to 


332     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

force  the  skull  between  -the  shining  rows  of  back-curving 
teeth.  The  jaws  broke  and  fell  to  pieces  at  the  joint 
without  the  puzzle  being  solved,  but  the  consensus  of 
opinion,  in  the  forecastle,  at  least,  appeared  to  be  ex- 
pressed by  the  yacht's  negro  cook  when  he  said  "dat 
blessed  head  must  ha'  done  bin  swallered  when  it  wuz 
a  littl'  ca'f,  an'  then  growed  up  inside!" 

In  the  Samoan  islands  the  natives  have  a  legend  about 
a  man  and  a  maid  who  eloped  from  Savaii,  fled  to  Tutu- 
ila,  and  were  there  turned  respectively  into  a  shark  and 
a  turtle  by  the  god  or  devil  into  whose  hands  they 
chanced  to  fall.  As  a  proof  of  this  story,  the  natives 
claim  that  if  you  go  out  and  sing  on  a  moonlight  night 
at  the  end  of  a  point  near  the  village  of  Leone,  Tutuila, 
the  shark  and  the  turtle  will  appear  to  you. 

When  they  told  this  story  to  a  young  American  naval 
officer  and  myself,  the  former  said  that  he  was  quite 
ready  to  believe  the  transformation  part  of  it  because 
his  outrigger  canoe  had  "turned  turtle"  that  very  morn- 
ing, while  a  native  dealer  who  had  sdld  us  curios  was 
nothing  if  not  a  "shark." 

In  the  matter  of  the  power  of  music  being  able  to 
call  up  the  loving  pair,  however,  we  were  both  agreed 
that  we  would  like  a  demonstration.  That  night,  there- 
fore, a  party  of  a  score  or  more  of  the  villagers  escorted 
us  out  to  the  point,  and  started  up  a  good  lively  Samoan 
himine.  They  had  finished  a  swinging  native  rowing 
song,  and  were  just  getting  under  way  with  their  be- 
loved "Tuta-pai,  mai  Feleni,"  when  the  unmistakable 
dorsal  of  a  "man-eater"  began  to  cut  backwards  and 
forward  across  the  glittering  moon-path.  Simultane- 
ously a  black  hump  began  to  show  above  the  water  im- 


"SHARKS"  333 

mediately  in  front  of  us,  and  presently  the  natives  called 
our  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  slowly  rising,  add- 
ing that  the  turtle  was  getting  ready  to  swim  over  and 
meet  the  shark.  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  my  observ- 
ant companion  noted  that  the  tide  was  rapidly  falling, 
and  after  ricochetting  a  round  of  bullets  from  our  re- 
volvers off  the  back  of  the  quondam  maiden  without 
stirring  her  up  to  the  point  of  keeping  her  tryst,  we  went 
back  to  the  village  fully  convinced  that  the  story  was  a 
fabrication,  the  shark  a  coincidence,  and  the  turtle  a 
black  rock. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"HIS   WONDERS   TO   PERFORM" 

WE  had  heard  of  the  Honourable  "Slope"  Carew — 
pearler,  "black-birder,"  yachtsman  and  scion  of  a  noble 
British  family — at  every  port  we  had  touched  in  the 
South  Pacific,  but  it  was  not  our  fortune  to  meet  him 
until  after  our  arrival  at  Suva.  There  he  was  one  of 
our  first  callers,  and  it  chanced  that  he,  with  the  Cap- 
tain of  H.M.S.  Clio  and  two  or  three  other  Englishmen, 
was  off  to  the  yacht  for  dinner  the  night  a  bottle  of 
champagne  exploded  prematurely  in  the  hands  of  our 
Chinese  steward  and  kicked  him  backwards  down  the 
cabin  stairs. 

"Makes  it  seem  like  the  old  days  on  the  Aphrodite," 
said  Carew,  pausing  in  his  stirring  narrative  of  the  way 
in  which  Bell,  a  renegade  American  naval  officer,  had 
saved  the  plague  ship,  Cora  Andrews.  "You  heard  of 
the  Aphrodite  in  Tahiti,  didn't  you,  and  of  how  her  cargo 
of  'Hum's  Extra  Spry'  helped  my  old  pal,  the  Reverend 
Horatio  Loveworth,  to  convert  Boraki  and  his  nest  of 
cut-throats  on  Makatea?" 

We  had  indeed  heard  the  story  of  the  conversion  of 
Boraki  and  his  fellow  pirates  of  Makatea,  but  never 
at  better  than  third  or  fourth  hand,  and  in  versions  so 
diametrically  at  variance  that  the  chance  to  enjoy  the 
account  of  one  who  had  actually  figured  in  that  famous 
coup  was  too  good  to  let  slip.  We  begged  Carew, 
therefore,  to  let  the  Cora  Andrews  yarn  go  over  to 

334 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      335 

another  time  and  to  give  us  the  "champagne  and  mis- 
sionary" story  then  and  there. 

We  were  dining  on  deck,  and  the  story,  begun  over 
avocados,  was  continued  after  we  adjourned  with  coffee 
and  liqueurs  to  sofa-cushions  or  lounging  chairs  in  the 
cockpit.  The  tropic  moon  was  dropping  plummets  of 
gold  through  the  rigging,  and,  as  he  talked,  Carew 
punctuated  his  well-turned  sentences  with  frequent  sips 
from  the  oft-replenished  glass  of  cracked  ice  and  ab- 
sinthe on  his  chair  arm.  Just  how  much  of  the  golden 
floss  of  the  streaming  moonlight  and  the  verdant  thread 
of  the  trickling  absinthe  were  twisted  into  the  yarn  he 
spun,  probably  Carew  himself  could  not  have  told. 

"It  is  a  long  story  if  I  go  back  to  the  beginning,  as 
I  shall  have  to  if  you  are  to  understand  all  that  hap- 
pened," said  Carew  musingly;  "for  from  first  to  last 
the  yarns  revolves,  not  around  myself  or  the  Aphrodite 
or  Boraki,  but  around  a  special  consignment  of  cham- 
pagne to  which  we  always  referred  from  the  moment  its 
true  character  began  to  be  revealed  as  'Hum's  Extra 
Spry.' 

"It  was  shortly  after  the  pater  cut  me  off  with  a 
beggarly  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  at  the  end  of  a 
series  of  escapades  which  had  culminated  with  my  wreck- 
ing his  yacht  on  the  coast  of  Morocco  that  I  found  my- 
self in  San  Francisco.  I  had  sailed  my  own  ninety- 
footer  at  Cowes  on  more  than  one  occasion,  so  that  I 
was  only  following  the  line  of  least  resistance  in  apply- 
ing for  the  billet  of  first  mate  when  I  learned  that 
Colonel  Jack  Spencer,  the  mining  magnate,  had  con- 
verted a  smart  sealing  schooner  into  a  private  yacht  and 
was  preparing  to  sail  with  a  party  of  friends  for  the 


336     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

South  Pacific.  Spencer  was  rather  taken  with  the 
idea  of  having  a  sprig  of  British  nobility  along,  and 
from  the  first  insisted  on  treating  me  more  as  a  guest 
than  an  under  officer.  This  was  how  I  chanced  to  be 
included  with  the  skipper  in  an  invitation  to  a  farewell 
dinner  given  by  Spencer  to  a  number  of  San  Francisco 
friends  on  the  eve  of  our  departure.  Here  I  met  the 
members  of  the  yachting  party,  and,  what  is  of  more 
importance  to  my  story,  had  my  first  experience  of  the 
potentialities  of  'Hum's  Extra  Spry.' 

"Perhaps  it  will  serve  to  make  the  strange  things 
which  came  to  pass  afterwards  more  intelligible  if  I 
explain  here  what  Spencer  only  became  apprised  of  six 
months  later  through  offering  his  New  York  wine  agent 
a  liberal  reward  for  the  information,  namely,  what  put 
the  power  in  the  fancy-priced  consignment  of  cham- 
pagne he  had  ordered  especially  for  the  South  Pacific 
cruise. 

"It  appeared  that  one  of  the  chemists  of  the  great 
Hum  winery  at  Rheims,  in  experimenting  with  a  newly- 
invented  aerating  powder,  had  used  that  mixture  in- 
stead of  the  decolourizing  solution  in  tapering  off  a  twelve 
dozen  case  order  of  California  champagne  that  was 
being  hurriedly  prepared  for  re-export  to  America. 
Now  normal  champagne,  in  the  making,  exerts  so  strong 
a  pressure  upon  the  glass  which  confines  it  that  an  aver- 
age of  fully  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  bottles  used  are 
burst  before  the  final  stage  is  reached,  while  the  aerat- 
ing powder  which  was  being  tried  out  as  a  substitute 
for  carbon-di-oxide  gas  in  making  sparkling  Burgundies 
and  Sauternes  was  calculated  to  develop  a  ten-pounds- 
to-the-square-inch  pressure  on  its  own  account.  So  it 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      337 

happened  that  every  unit  of  the  order  in  question,  hav- 
ing in  addition  to  its  normal  stock  of  bubbles  those  gen- 
erated as  a  result  of  the  accidental  aeration,  was  more 
like  a  hand  grenade  than  a  bottle  of  wine.  Nine-tenths 
of  the  lot  suffered  total  disintegration  before  it  was 
ready  to  be  shipped,  and  the  remainder  was  only  saved 
by  being  transferred  to  rubber-corked  bottles  of  quarter- 
inch  glass,  all  of  the  outsides  of  which  were  reinforced 
with  a  closely-woven  mesh  of  gilded  wire.  Red  enamel 
grape  leaves  were  grilled  into  the  gold  foil  of  the  cap, 
and  the  label,  in  addition  to  several  lines  of  French  at- 
testing the  purity  of  the  contents,  bore  the  English 
words  'Liquid  Sunshine — Special,'  in  raised  ivory 
letters. 

"The  two  or  three  dozen  surviving  cases  of  this  re- 
markable vintage  were  snapped  up  the  moment  they 
were  clear  of  the  customs  by  Spencer's  New  York  agent, 
who  rushed  them  on  to  San  Francisco.  All  but  two 
cases,  which  were  kept  out  to  serve  at  the  Spencers' 
farewell  dinnner,  were  sent  aboard  the  yacht  and  stowed. 

"I  saw  at  once  that  the  old  chap  was  worried  when  I 
arrived  the  evening  of  the  dinner,  and  before  we  went 
in  he  took  me  aside  to  ask  if  I  knew  anything  regarding 
the  handling  of  'high-power'  wine,  as  he  termed  it.  It 
appeared  that  in  the  afternoon,  while  several  bottles  of 
the  new  wine  were  in  the  refrigerator  undergoing  a  pre- 
liminary cooling,  some  one  had  dropped  an  ice  pick  in 
amongst  them  and  they  had  all  gone  off  together.  The 
frame  of  the  box  held,  but  the  partitions  gave  way, 
wrecking,  beyond  possibility  of  salvage,  two  dozen  ice 
cream  models  of  the  Aphrodite  floating  in  a  sea  of  green 
jelly.  The  Aphrodites  were  replaced  by  some  ready- 


338     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

made  anchors  which  the  caterer  chanced  to  have  on  hand, 
but  the  endeavour  to  hasten  the  chilling  of  more  cham- 
pagne by  the  use  of  a  whirligig  freezer  only  resulted  in 
the  annihilation  of  that  useful  contrivance  and  the  loss 
of  another  bottle  of  wine. 

"The  contents  of  the  first  two  bottles  which  the  butler 
opened  for  dinner  got  away  to  the  ceiling  almost  as  fast 
as  did  the  gilt-capped  corks,  and  that  worthy  was  about 
ready  to  give  up  in  despair  when  one  of  the  caterer's 
men  pointed  the  way  to  a  solution  of  the  immediate 
problem  by  setting  the  next  bottle  in  a  punchbowl  and 
capping  it  with  an  inverted  soup  plate.  The  latter  was 
smashed  to  smithereens  at  the  first  trial,  but  the  alumi- 
num stew  pan  which  replaced  it  at  the  next  attempt 
stood  the  shock  and  deflected  the  cork,  cap  and  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  a  restless  yellow  liquid  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  punchbowl.  This  liquid,  by  means  of  a 
funnel,  was  restored  to  its  bottle,  hastily  muffling  which 
in  a  napkin  to  restrain  a  persistent  catarrhal  tendency 
of  its  nose,  the  flurried  butler,  fifteen  minutes  late, 
dashed  into  the  dining  room  with  the  first  installment 
of  the  anxiously-awaited  'Sunshine.' 

"Now  it  is  just  possible  that  had  the  butler  moved 
with  his  wonted  glide  of  easy  dignity  nothing  very  much 
out  of  the  ordinary  would  have  happened;  but  the  stiff, 
broken-kneed  trot  with  which  he  tried  to  make  up  for 
lost  time  aroused  the  dormant  energies  of  the  hard-won 
contents  of  the  bottle,  with  the  result  that  it  gathered 
itself  together  and  made  a  fresh  break  for  the  open  just 
as  its  warder  was  edging  in  for  a  gingerly  pour  at  the 
glass  of  a  pearly-shouldered  dowager  who  was  sitting 
on  Spencer's  right.  There  was  no  inverted  aluminum 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      339 

stew  pan  to  deflect  the  erupting  '  Sunshine'  this  time, 
and,  as  a  consequence,  it  expended  itself  with  one  joy- 
ous 'whouf  upon  the  well-kept  surfaces  of  the  stately 
dame's  right  cheek  and  shoulder.  Some  little  of  it, 
tinged  with  rose  and  pearl,  caromed  off  to  extinguish  a 
circle  of  pink  candles  on  the  table,  but  the  most  of  it 
remained  behind  to  trickle  in  little  rose  and  pearl  rivu- 
lets down  the  lady's  neck.  The  unfortunate  victim 
screamed  lustily  several  times,  dabbed  wildly  at  the 
parts  affected  with  a  little  yellow  rag  which  suddenly 
appeared  from  nowhere,  and  then  ran,  sobbing,  from 
the  room. 

"In  the  meantime  the  butler's  assistants  had  rounded 
him  up  another  bottle  of  the  elusive  fluid,  and  when 
that  functionary  appeared  again  in  the  dining  room  he 
might  have  been  planting  dynamite  bombs,  so  carefully 
did  he  pick  his  way  about  and  so  great  was  the  expres- 
sion of  terror  in  his  staring  eyes.  But  he  stuck  gamely 
to  his  task  and  finally  poured  out  the  last  of  the  'Sun- 
shine' that  his  improvised  distillery  was  able  to  deliver 
without  again  interfering  with  the  toilet  of  any  of  the 
guests. 

"In  all  of  this  time  not  a  soul  was  able  to  get  a  sip  of 
the  phantom  liquid.  The  moment  a  trickle  of  it  touched 
a  glass  it  hissed  like  a  moistened  seidlitz  powder,  threw 
spray  in  the  air  and  piled  up  a  heap  of  bubbles  which, 
quickly  subsiding,  left  nothing  behind  but  a  drug-store 
smell  and  a  damp  circle  of  table  cloth.  The  sprightly 
brunette  in  her  first  season  whom  I  had  taken  in  came 
nearest  to  getting  a  drink,  and  her  experience  had  a 
dampening  effect  upon  the  enthusiasm  of  the  others. 
This  maid  was  rash  and  impulsive,  and,  partly  by  quick- 


340    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ness  of  hand,  partly  by  inhalation,  she  managed  to  de- 
flect laterally  a  lungful  of  the  pungent  spray  which 
was  ascending  perpendicularly  to  bespangle  with  dewy 
drops  what  some  one  had  just  characterized  in  nautical 
parlance  as  her  'natty  gaff  topsail  pompadour.'  Her 
behaviour  for  the  next  minute  or  two  made  the  efforts 
of  the  plump  dowager  to  staunch  the  flow  of  her  com- 
plexion seem  dignified  in  comparison.  The  dinner  was 
finished  up  with  a  more  manageable  vintage,  and  next 
day  the  Aphrodite  sailed  without  further  requisition 
having  been  made  upon  her  stores  of  'Extra  Spry.' 

"All  through  the  three  weeks'  cruise  to  Tahiti  the  rest- 
less bubbles  in  the  thick,  green  bottles  in  the  Aphrodite's 
starboard  lockers  elbowed  each  other  as  they  swelled  in 
the  tropic  heat,  but  it  was  not  until  the  yacht  was  safely 
anchored  in  Papeete  harbour  that  another  opportunity 
came  for  any  of  them  to  get  beyond  control.  A  call  had 
been  made  on  the  French  governor  in  the  morning,  and 
that  dignitary,  according  to  official  etiquette,  was  return- 
ing the  visit  in  company  with  his  stately  wife  the  after- 
noon of  the  same  day.  Doubtless  you  had  to  go  through 
the  same  thing.  The  trouble  came  while  the  hospitable 
Spencer  was  mixing  a  punch.  Cold  tea,  maraschino, 
curacao,  burnt  sugar  and  a  lot  of  other  stuff  had  already 
gone  in  as  a  base,  quite  enough,  so  the  mixer  thought, 
to  dilute  a  bottle  of  his  'Extra  Spry'  to  an  exhilarant 
innocuousness.  All  might  have  gone  well  had  the  dilut- 
ing been  done  upon  scientific  principles,  but  Spencer, 
whose  knowledge  of  hydraulics  appeared  very  rudimen- 
tary for  a  man  who  had  made  a  fortune  in  placer  min- 
ing, directed  the  Japanese  steward  to  poke  the  nose  of 
the  bottle  into  the  punch  as  soon  as  he  started  the  cork. 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      341 

That  obedient  functionary  approached  the  bowl  from 
the  side  opposite  to  the  one  on  which  the  governor  and 
his  wife  were  seated  and  did  exactly  as  directed. 

"Although  the  time  was  but  five  in  the  afternoon,  His 
Excellency  was  in  the  full  evening  dress  prescribed  for 
official  calls — cock-hat,  claw-hammer  coat  and  two  feet 
of  shirt  front  crossed  with  a  strip  of  red,  white  and  blue 
bunting  and  a  row  and  a  half  of  medals.  A  hundredth 
of  a  second  after  the  asthmatically-wheezing  nose  of  the 
bottle  of  'Extra  Spry'  went  over  the  edge  of  the  bowl 
this  regalia  was  absorbing  a  good  half  of  Spencer's  par- 
tially mixed  punch,  while  the  remainder  bubbled  and 
creamed  over  the  expensive  Parisian  creation  of  his 
stately  wife. 

"A  sailor,  who  had  taken  in  the  incident  from  the  for- 
ward deck,  lost  control  of  himself  and  broke  into  a  loud 
guffaw,  in  which  he  was  promptly  joined  by  several  of 
his  mates.  This  set  two  or  three  of  the  more  irreverent 
of  the  members  of  Spencer's  party  going,  and  when  the 
spasm  of  laughter  had  passed  it  was  found  that  Their 
Excellencies,  in  high  dudgeon,  had  melted  over  the  side 
and  departed  in  their  waiting  cutter.  The  Jap  was 
found  at  the  foot  of  the  cabin  stairs  with  a  bruise  in  the 
pit  of  his  stomach  which  bade  fair  to  confine  him  to  the 
little  French  hospital  for  a  fortnight.  Tropical  heat 
and  the  agitation  of  the  tossing  bosom  of  the  South  Pa- 
cific were  conspiring  to  set  on  hair-trigger  edge  the 
latent  energies  of  the  'Extra  Spry,'  and,  though  none 
suspected  it,  the  insistent  throb  of  the  imprisoned  bub- 
bles were  the  pulse  beats  in  the  Hand  of  Fate. 

"The  coldness  of  Tahiti  officialdom  after  this  incident, 
a  squabble  with  his  skipper,  as  well  as  incipient  internal 


342     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

dissensions  among  the  members  of  his  too-closely-con- 
fined party,  all  conspired  to  make  Spencer  forego  the 
remainder  of  the  cruise  he  had  planned,  and  within  the 
next  week  or  so  they  had  all  left  for  San  Francisco  or 
Auckland,  leaving  the  Aphrodite  in  my  hands  to  be  sold 
to  the  highest  bidder.  At  the  end  of  a  month  I  sold  her 
to  the  Amalgamated  Missionary,  Bible  and  Tract  So- 
ciety, which  eagerly  embraced  the  opportunity  to  replace 
at  a  bargain  figure  its  schooner,  Morning  Star,  which 
the  last  hurricane  had  piled  up,  a  hopeless  wreck,  upon 
the  beach  of  Moorea.  I  was  retained  as  skipper. 

"The  Society  had  long  been  anxious  to  undertake 
some  reclamation  work  in  the  Paumotos,  and  the  pos- 
session of  the  Aphrodite — a  vessel  that,  on  account  of 
the  ease  with  which  she  handled,  could  venture  with 
comparative  safety  where  the  ordinary  type  of  South 
Sea  schooner  dared  not  go — made  it  possible  to  attempt 
to  realize  this  ambition  for  the  first  time.  After  a  week 
of  busy  preparation  we  made  ready  to  sail  for  Makatea, 
and  when  the  missionary  schooner,  Southern  Cross, 
glided  out  of  the  narrow  crack  in  the  reef  which  consti- 
tutes the  entrance  to  Papeete  harbour  and  headed  off  for 
the  north-east,  there  was  little  to  differentiate  her  from 
the  saucy  Aphrodite  which  had  come  bowling  in  over  an 
almost  identical  course  a  month  or  so  previously.  A 
new  set  of  gold  letters  across  her  stern,  a  crown  and 
anchor  flag  at  the  main  truck,  and  a  plain  set  of  table 
covers  and  bedspreads  included  about  all  the  changes 
in  sight,  and  even  a  search  of  the  lazarette  and  lockers 
would  have  disclosed  little  (except  some  bales  of  Bibles 
and  hymn  books  and  some  cases  of  salmon  and  barrels 
of  salt  beef)  which  had  not  been  there  before. 


TOP' I II 


itfjidr;!^! 
fffilffc^i'! 

tfffgpspiM 

ij^Mfif1" 

™!iii 


!!|iP 

...........iirf.wfif 

J>di8I  H1'  Ha 

[IBlllillSF 


WEAVING  THE  WALLS  OF  A  FIJIAN  HOUSE 


INTERIOR  OF  FIJIAN  HOUSE,  SHOWING  HOW  IT  is  BOUND 

TOGETHER    WITH    COCO    FIBRE 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      343 

"Fewer  still  were  the  old  things  that  had  been  dis- 
pensed with.  The  name  and  the  house-flag  had  to  be 
altered,  of  course,  to  suit  the  new  character  of  the  ves- 
sel, while  embroidered  silk  peacocks  and  sun-flowers  on 
the  coverlets  were  rather  beyond  the  simple  tastes  of  the 
Reverend  Horatio  Loveworth  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
work  in  hand.  But  the  punchbowl  had  been  retained  as 
a  baptismal  fount,  the  wines — including  the  'Extra 
Spry' — for  medicinal  purposes,  the  fancy  stores  to  be 
presented  as  a  goodwill  offering  to  King  Boraki  of 
Makatea,  and  a  gramophone,  fortified  with  a  big  stack 
of  new  bass  drum  and  trombone  records  of  popular 
hymns,  as  a  music  teacher  to  the  expected  converts. 
Loveworth's  keen  practicality  had  been  the  principal 
factor  in  his  rapid  rise  to  the  most  important  position 
in  the  South  Pacific  missionary  service. 

"My  mate  was  an  Australian  of  long  experience 
among  the  Islands,  and  the  crew  a  well-picked  lot  of 
half-castes  and  Kanakas.  We  worked  well  together, 
and  I  doubt  if  the  little  schooner,  even  in  her  sealing 
days,  was  ever  better  handled.  After  two  days  of  ad- 
mirable behaviour  in  baffling  winds  and  treacherous  cur- 
rents, she  penetrated  to  the  very  heart  of  the  stormy 
Paumotan  Archipelago.  Ahead  loomed  the  black  ifiass 
of  Makatea,  the  half -coral,  half -volcanic  island  of  sinis- 
ter reputation  which  was  our  destination,  and  between 
stretched  ten  miles  of  submerged  reefs  which  the  chart 
made  no  pretence  of  outlining. 

"Ordering  sail  to  be  shortened  and  a  man  sent  aloft, 
I  was  just  preparing  to  begin  'feeling'  our  way  in  to- 
ward the  darker  blur  that  marked  the  probable  entrance 
to  the  lagoon,  when  the  mate's  keen  eye  descried  a  lone 


344     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

sail  bearing  rapidly  down  on  us  from  landward.  My 
glass  revealed  a  large  out-rigger  canoe  which,  driven  by 
a  fair  wind  and  urged  by  the  flashing  paddles  of  its 
dozen  or  more  occupants,  was  throwing  the  foam  over 
its  bow  so  swiftly  was  it  sliding  through  the  water.  In 
less  than  half  an  hour  it  had  grated  against  the  side  of 
the  schooner  and  the  leader  of  the  party,  a  magnificently 
proportioned  fellow  dressed  only  in  a  red  pareo  and  a 
necklace  of  sharks'  teeth,  disdaining  the  ladder  that  was 
lowered  for  him,  leapt  lightly  over  the  rail  and,  saluting 
the  Reverend  Horatio  with  a  bow  and  a  sweep  of  his 
koui  fibre  hat,  announced  himself  to  be  King  Boraki. 

"Speaking  in  the  Marquesan  dialect,  he  said  that 
Makatea  had  learned  of  the  great  missionary's  intended 
visit  from  word  that  had  come  by  Rangaroa;  that 
Makatea  was  transported  with  joy  at  the  honour  that 
was  being  done  it ;  that  preparations  for  a  fitting  recep- 
tion had  been  in  progress  for  a  week  and  were  now  com- 
plete; and,  finally,  that  he  had  come  to  pilot  the  ship  of 
his  distinguished  visitor  by  a  safe  channel  to  the  harbour 
and  to  be  the  first  of  his  people  to  receive  a  Christian 
blessing. 

'  'God  bless  you,  my  brother;  ask  the  rest  of  our 
brothers  to  come  aboard  for  prayer  and  refreshment,' 
ejaculated  the  Reverend  Horatio  fervently,  and  no 
sooner  was  the  invitation  issued  than  fifteen  more  red 
pareos  and  shark  tooth  necklaces  flashed  over  the  rail, 
their  wearers  promptly  ranging  themselves  in  an  orderly 
row  behind  their  leader.  An  instant  later,  like  puppets 
controlled  by  a  single  string,  every  man  of  them 
plumped  down  on  his  knees,  crossed  his  arms  on  his 
breast  and,  with  eyes  devoutly  raised  at  an  angle  that 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      345 

directed  their  gaze  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  third 
row  of  reef  points  on  the  idly  flapping  mainsail,  re- 
mained motionless. 

"  'Rehearsed,  by  Gawd!'  muttered  the  mate,  whose 
quick  eye  had  caught  Boraki's  backhand  signal.  'Oh, 
for  a  Maxim  on  the  deckhouse !' 

"  'Oh  for  words  to  express  my  thanks  for  all  that  has 
happened  and  is  going  to  happen  this  day!'  prayed  the 
Reverend  Horatio,  heeding  naught  but  the  fact  that  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  the  apparent  fulfilment  of  a  lifelong 
ambition.  His  prayer  was  brief  but  full  of  feeling,  and 
when  it  was  over  he  asked  all  hands  to  come  below  and 
have  something  to  eat. 

"Boraki  brought  his  men  to  their  feet  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand,  picked  two  of  his  chiefs  to  accompany  him  to 
the  cabin  with  the  missionary,  and  sent  the  others  for- 
ward to  feed  and  fraternize  with  the  crew.  Carried 
away  by  Loveworth's  enthusiasm  and  confidence — the 
man  was,  and  is,  a  born  leader — the  mate  and  I  followed 
him  and  the  guest  of  honour  below. 

"Who  this  Boraki  was,  beyond  being  the  greatst  ras- 
cal that  ever  terrorized  the  south-eastern  Pacific,  no- 
body knew.  What  he  was,  everybody  could  tell  you, 
but  those  who  asked  usually  tried  to  save  time  by  telling 
you  what  he  wasn't.  By  process  of  elimination  you 
might  then  learn  that  he  was  a  pirate,  cut-throat,  mur- 
derer, cannibal,  robber  and  other  things  too  numerous 
to  mention;  also,  that  each  of  his  four  hundred  men  in 
Makatea  was  all  of  these  things  to  a  greater  or  lesser 
degree,  and  that  few  of  them  had  ever  been  apprehended 
or  punished.  Boraki  himself  was  supposed  to  have  a 
good  deal  of  European  blood  in  his  veins,  but  of  what 


346     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

nationality  no  one  was  sure.  The  traders  said  that  his 
father  was  a  missionary,  and  pointed  to  traits  in  his 
character  to  prove  it;  the  missionaries  said  that  his 
father  was  a  trader,  and  pointed  to  traits  in  his  charac- 
ter to  prove  it;  Boraki  was  silent  on  the  subject,  but  in- 
directly gave  both  parties  the  lie  by  robbing  and  killing 
— and  some  said  eating — traders  and  missionaries  alike. 

"All  that  Boraki  had  said  in  his  little  speech  when  he 
boarded  the  Southern  Cross  was  quite  true,  but  not  quite 
the  whole  truth.  He  did  not  state,  for  example,  that 
the  preparations  for  entertainment  he  referred  to  were 
to  be  in  the  form  of  endurance  tests  of  walking  on  red- 
hot  stones — the  walking  to  be  done  by  the  visitors — 
and  that  possibly  the  red-hot  stones  might  serve  for  an- 
other purpose  by  the  time  the  supper  hour  came  around. 
Nor  did  he  state  that  the  end  of  his  volunteer  piloting 
was  to  run  the  nose  of  the  schooner  into  a  soft  sand  bank 
in  the  middle  of  the  passage,  where  canoe-loads  of  his 
men,  coming  from  the  lagoon  ostensibly  as  life-savers, 
could  take  advantage  of  the  confusion  that  was  bound 
to  follow  the  accident  to  enter  into  possession  with  a 
minimum  of  difficulty  and  risk.  The  schooner  was  to 
be  left  till  the  shifting  of  the  sands  at  the  turn  of  the 
tide  would  release  her  without  injury.  All  of  which,  of 
course,  we  did  not  learn  until  later. 

"This  plan,  good  enough  to  have  succeeded  against  a 
gunboat,  had  been  evolved  by  the  resourceful  pirate  in 
the  expectation  that  the  Southern  Cross  was  coming 
with  nothing  less  than  a  battery  of  rapid-fire  guns  and  a 
detachment  of  French  marines  to  see  her  through. 
When  Boraki  saw  no  quick-firers  on  the  deck,  no  rifles 
or  cutlasses  in  the  cabin,  and  not  even  a  revolver  or 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      347 

j 

knife  in  the  belts  of  the  officers  and  crew,  he  perceived  at 
once  that  there  was  no  use  risking  the  loss  of  the 
schooner  by  running  her  aground.  His  action  was 
characteristic. 

"The  swift  happenings  of  the  next  hour  or  so,  as  I 
was  witness  of  them  only  'in  spots,'  I  shall  describe  as 
the  subsequent  testimony  of  the  participants — princi- 
pally Boraki  himself — showed  them  to  have  transpired. 

"The  distinctly  mixed  assemblage — Boraki,  his  two 
fellow  cut-throats,  Loveworth,  the  Australian  first  mate, 
the  half-caste  second  mate  and  myself — were  seated 
round  the  cabin  table.  The  steward  had  finished  setting 
out  a  substantial  little  lunch  and  the  Reverend  Horatio, 
having  put  one  of  his  favourite  records  into  the  gramo- 
phone, was  just  winding  it  up,  when  Boraki,  without  a 
word  even  to  his  companions,  sprang  lightly  to  the  top 
of  the  cabin  stairs  and  shouted  to  his  men  in  Marquesan 
— a  language  that  was  understood  by  every  one  on  the 
boat  but  myself — to  tie  up  the  sailors.  Regaining  the 
cabin  floor  at  a  single  bound,  he  swung  quickly  with  a 
mineral  water  bottle  on  the  heads  of  the  first  and  second 
mates  before  either  of  those  unfortunates  was  clear  of 
his  chair.  My  own  head  struck  the  cabin  lamp  a  sharp 
blow  as  I  lurched  up  out  of  my  swivel  seat,  and  I  was 
already  half  dazed  when  Boraki's  hard-swung  bludgeon 
landed  on  my  temple  and  dropped  me  like  a  log  across 
the  second  mate.  My  last  recollection  was  of  one  of 
the  chiefs,  muffled  in  Loveworth's  long  black  coat-tails, 
trying  to  pinion  the  missionary's  powerful  legs,  while 
the  other  brown  rascal  tore  at  the  clerical  stock  in  an 
effort  to  find  an  effective  place  to  choke.  I  am  indebted 
to  Boraki  for  most  of  what  followed. 


348     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

"Giving  each  of  our  prostrate  bodies  a  prod  with  his 
toe  to  assure  himself  that  they  were  really  as  limp  as 
they  looked,  Boraki  perched  on  the  corner  of  the  table 
and  divided  his  time  between  eating  chocolate  wafers 
and  giving  his  henchmen  gratuitous  tips  on  the  way  to 
hold  down  a  struggling  missionary.  It  was  an  even 
thing  for  a  while,  Boraki  avers ;  the  prettiest  kind  of  a 
fight.  But  when  the  man  who  had  stroked  Oxford  for 
three  consecutive  years  finally  threw  off  his  assailants 
and  made  a  break  for  the  deck  and  fighting  room,  the 
wily  pirate  felt  that  it  was  time  to  take  a  hand  himself. 
Without  descending  from  his  comfortable  cross-legged 
perch  on  the  snowy  table-cloth,  he  leaned  forward  as  the 
fugitive  dashed  by  and  coolly  planted  his  water  bottle 
just  aft  Loveworth's  right  ear,  sending  the  stout-hearted 
missionary  down  alongside  his  officers  in  the  shambles 
on  the  floor. 

"Leaving  his  companions  to  tie  up  the  prisoners, 
Boraki,  munching  at  a  mixed  fistful  of  eclairs  and 
canned  salmon,  sauntered  forward  to  see  all  made  snug 
in  that  part  of  the  ship.  Five  minutes  later,  his  head 
crowned  with  Loveworth's  waste-basket — a  cast  iron 
imitation  of  a  top  hat — and  puffing  contentedly  at  a 
Perfecto,  he  had  taken  his  station  at  the  wheel  and  with 
the  skill  of  a  born  sailor  was  guiding  the  Southern  Cross 
in  through  the  maze  of  shoals  that  surrounded  his  island. 

"The  run  in  was  a  dead  beat  to  windward,  the  sun  was 
pitilessly  hot,  and  by  the  time  the  schooner's  anchor  went 
rattling  down  into  the  rose  coral  floor  of  Makatea  lagoon 
Boraki's  kingly  head,  under  its  sixteen-pound  iron 
crown,  was  buzzing  like  the  Trade-wind  in  the  palm 
fronds.  His  blood  seemed  turned  to  boiling  water  and 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      349 

the  words  of  the  final  orders  that  he  tried  to  speak  rat- 
tled together  in  his  throat  like  the  rustle  of  dead  banana 
leaves,  so  that  he  had  to  make  his  meaning  clear  by  signs. 
What  wonder,  then,  that  not  even  a  hundred-yards- 
square  of  close-packed  canoes,  from  each  of  which  is- 
sued shouts  of  acclamation,  could  hold  him  when,  from 
the  cool,  dark  depth  of  the  cabin,  came  the  ringing 
Marquesan  equivalent  of  'Rum  ho!' 

"Boraki  crossed  the  cockpit  in  one  bound,  negotiated 
the  companionway  in  another,  and  with  a  third  hurdled 
the  prostrate  forms  of  the  prisoners  and  landed  between 
his  two  faithful  lieutenants  who,  after  bootlessly  ran- 
sacking the  schooner  from  stem  to  stern,  had  at  last  dis- 
covered the  wine  lockers  underneath  the  starboard  tran- 
soms in  the  cabin. 

"Boraki  was  vaguely  aware  that  each  of  his  men  was 
holding  up  a  cool-looking  green  bottle,  through  the 
wonderful  gold  network  of  which  could  be  seen  a  beau- 
tiful golden  liquid  that  bubbled  and  flashed  and  jumped 
up  and  down  and  seemed  quite  as  impatient  to  get  out 
and  run  down  his  burning  throat  as  he  was  to  have  it  do 
so.  In  the  lockers  below  stretched  endless  lines  of  simi- 
lar flashing  bottles,  and  each  line,  to  the  chief's  inflamed 
imagination,  seemed  long  enough  to  link  the  lagoon  of 
Makatea  to  the  moon  with  a  golden  chain.  He  won- 
dered how  long  it  would  take  him  to  drink  them  all  dry. 

"But  why  this  terrible  delay?  Wouldn't  these  fools 
ever  set  the  nectar  free  and  extinguish  the  flames  that 
were  licking  up  his  insides?  They  were  letting  him  die 
while  they  sought  for  a  white  man's  'pull-pull'  to  loosen 
the  plugs  with!  What  need  was  there  for  a  'pull-pull' 
anyhow?  He  would  show  them  how  the  thing  should 


350     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

be  done,  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  impa- 
tient chief  seized  a  bottle  in  each  hand  and  deftly  opened 
the  two  at  once  by  knocking  their  heads  together. 

"What  else  he  opened  at  the  same  time  Boraki  prob- 
ably never  thoroughly  understood,  and  so  he  was  the 
readier  to  believe  Loveworth  when  that  keen  opportunist 
told  him  solemnly  that  it  was  the  Gate  of  Hell.  After 
that  point  had  been  impressed  upon  him,  his  alarmed 
query  as  to  whether  or  not  all  the  devils  who  had  come 
out  when  the  Gate  opened  had  returned  was  a  perfectly 
natural  one.  He  said  that  the  only  thing  he  clearly 
remembered  was  a  feeling  of  wonder  that  the  heads  of 
the  beautiful  bottles  should  knock  off  so  easily,  and  that 
his  first  recollection  after  that  was  of  crying  out  because 
he  thought  some  one  was  raking  off  his  face  with  a  comb 
made  of  shark-hooks.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  incidents 
alluded  to  were  separated  by  more  than  an  hour  of  time, 
and  the  shark-hook  comb  sensation  was  caused  by  the 
well-meant  efforts  of  the  first  and  second  mates  to  re- 
move the  cast  iron  hat  from  Boraki's  head  with  the  aid 
of  a  hammer,  file  and  cold  chisel. 

"When  the  roughly  opened  bottles  of  'Extra  Spry' 
kicked  downward  and  set  off  the  whole  mine  in  the  lock- 
ers the  henchmen  were  only  slammed  across  to  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  cabin  and  deposited,  senseless,  against 
the  china  closet;  but  the  king  himself,  caught  bending 
over,  received  the  full  force  of  the  explosion  upon  the 
chest  and  was  shot  like  a  rocket  against  the  ceiling.  By 
the  impact,  his  iron  hat,  while  it  probably  saved  him 
from  a  fractured  skull,  was  driven  through  flesh  and 
cartilage  squarely  down  upon  his  shoulders,  fitting  so 
closely  that  only  a  rust  hole  in  the  crown  saved  its  wearer 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      351 

from  a  speedy  smothering.  Surely  no  other  king  in 
history,  so  securely  crowned,  ever  furnished  so  graphic 
an  illustration  of  the  'Uneasy  lies  the  head'  adage. 

"Ten  seconds  after  the  explosion,  out  of  all  the  horde 
that  had  swarmed  over  her,  not  a  Makatean  who  could 
help  himself  remained  aboard  the  Southern  Cross,  and  in 
less  than  that  many  minutes  not  a  canoe  cut  the  waters 
of  the  lagoon  and  no  man,  woman  or  child  was  stirring 
in  the  village.  Huddled  in  their  houses,  the  whole 
population  was  awaiting  in  fear  and  trembling  the  mo- 
ment when  the  devil  ship  would  reopen  with  its  invisible 
cannon. 

"The  terror  of  the  people  was  increased  a  hundredfold 
when  a  man  who,  watching  at  the  sky-light  of  the  cabin, 
had  been  stunned  by  the  explosion,  came  floundering 
madly  ashore  a  half  hour  later  and  ran  from  house  to 
house  telling  in  broken  speech  how  he  had  seen  the  white 
men — whom  they  had  all  beheld  lying  bound  and  life- 
less on  the  cabin  floor — rise  up  and  begin  driving  spikes 
through  King  Boraki's  head.  Never  was  clay  laid 
ready  to  the  hand  of  the  moulder  more  plastic  than  was 
the  outlaw  community  of  Makatea  at  this  moment;  nor 
was  ever  man  better  qualified  to  make  the  most  of  the 
situation  than  the  Reverend  Horatio  Loveworth. 

"Lying  on  the  floor,  as  we  had  been,  the  explosion, 
far  from  doing  us  injury,  in  the  stiff  jolt  it  gave  our 
battered  frames  only  hastened  our  return  to  conscious- 
ness. Loveworth  was  the  first  to  slip  the  napkins  which 
bound  his  wrists.  Dazed  as  he  was,  the  good  chap  yet 
had  the  presence  of  mind  to  make  the  three  of  us  who 
were  still  tied  promise  to  refrain  from  murdering 
Boraki  and  his  fellows  before  he  would  assist  us  in  free- 


352     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ing  our  bonds.  To  hold  the  mates  to  their  promises, 
once  their  hands  were  free  to  rove  over  the  swelling 
mounds  that  marked  the  spots  where  the  pirate's  hard- 
swung  water  bottle  had  fallen,  was  a  more  difficult  mat- 
ter. They  helped  me  truss  up  the  henchmen  and  re- 
lease the  sailors,  but  enlisting  them  in  actual  relief  work 
was  a  task  so  well  nigh  hopeless  that  Loveworth  gave 
it  up  in  despair  after  a  few  minutes  of  entreaty  and  be- 
gan alone.  It  was  the  muffled  gurglings  and  convul- 
sive wrigglings  set  going  by  his  first  tug  at  the  iron  plug 
that  finally  brought  the  belligerents  into  line,  they 
scenting  in  the  vigorous  application  of  'first  aid'  meas- 
ures a  possible  means  of  accomplishing  their  end  with- 
out bringing  about  an  open  rupture  with  the  missionary, 
to  whom  they  were  greatly  devoted.  Considering  the 
zeal  with  which  they  set  about  their  errand  of  mercy,  and 
their  manner  of  wielding  the  tools  in  the  delicate  opera- 
tion of  chipping  Boraki's  head  out  of  the  iron  hat,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  locating  the  source  of  the  fugitive 
Makatean's  spike-driving  story. 

"One  of  the  king's  first  questions  after  he  had  been 
informed  that  it  was  the  Gate  of  Hell  that  had  swung  on 
him  was,  not  unnaturally,  as  to  whether  or  not  the  Gate 
swung  very  often  like  that,  and,  if  it  did,  when  the  next 
swinging  was  likely  to  occur.  When  he  was  told  that 
this  was  only  a  special  swinging  directly  occasioned  by 
his  shameless  treachery,  and  that,  anyhow,  the  danger 
was  one  that  never  threatened  good  Christians,  he  was 
silent  for  a  space,  and  then  asked,  with  apparent  irrele- 
vance, what  had  become  of  the  green  bottles. 

*  'Gone  to '  began  the  mate  in  an  angry  roar,  the 

realization  of  an  almost  personal  loss  suddenly  assailing 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      353 

him — 'the  other  side  of  the  Gate,'  gently  concluded  the 
Reverend  Horatio  after  checking  the  obstreperous  Aus- 
tralian's threatened  outburst  of  profanity  with  an  up- 
raised hand. 

"  'Then  teach  me  and  my  people  how  to  remain  on  this 
side  of  the  Gate,'  gasped  Boraki  hoarsely,  as  he  sank 
back  with  a  shiver  among  the  silk  sofa  cushions  which 
supported  his  battered  frame. 

"So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  the  king  had  rested 
for  a  while  we  put  the  Crown  and  Anchor  banner  of 
the  Missionary  Society  in  his  hands,  propped  him  up 
in  the  stern  sheets  of  the  starboard  lifeboat  with  one  of 
his  faithful  henchmen  on  either  side,  and  sent  him 
ashore,  rowed  by  a  volunteer  crew  of  the  least  hurt  of  the 
sailors. 

'Tell  your  people,'  shouted  Loveworth  as  the  boat 
gained  headway  under  a  lengthening  stroke,  'that  you 
have  come  back  from  the  Gate  of  Hell  to  help  me  guide 
them  out  of  the  darkness  into  the  light  and  to  life  ever- 
lasting. If  they  are  ready  to  accept  the  teaching,  hoist 
the  flag  in  front  of  your  council  house.' 

"Boraki  heard  and  nodded  vigorously  with  the  gory 
cylinder  that  served  him  as  a  head. 

"The  referendum  was  accomplished  in  record  time, 
for  in  less  than  five  minutes  from  the  moment  the  boat 
touched  the  beach  we  saw  a  man  dart  out  of  a  side  portal 
of  Boraki's  palm-leaf  palace  and  run  like  mad  to  the 
foot  of  the  lopped-off  coconut  tree  that  stood  before  the 
long  turtle-backed  council  house.  With  straining  eyes, 
we  saw  him  clamber,  monkey-like,  up  the  lofty  stump, 
caught  the  flashes  of  a  furiously-swung  hammer,  and 
then,  snapping  exultantly  in  the  whistling  south-east 


354    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

Trade,  the  flag  of  the  golden  Crown  and  Anchor 
streamed  out  from  the  official  flag-pole  of  Makatea. 
The  people  had  made  their  choice. 

"No  sooner  was  his  beloved  banner  out  to  the  breeze 
than  Loveworth,  taking  with  him  the  disgusted  second 
mate,  put  off  for  the  beach  in  the  whaleboat  to  catch  at 
its  flood  the  tide  of  fortune  which  had  at  last  begun  to 
set  so  strongly  in  his  favour.  The  mate  and  I  went  be- 
low to  take  stock  of  the  wreck  in  the  cabin. 

"  'S'elp  me  Father  Neptune,  I'd  give  a  month's  pay 
to  the  new  mission  to  know  what  it  was  that  knocked 
them  bloomin'  pirates  into  the  shape  we  woke  up  to  find 
'em  in,'  said  the  mate  musingly,  sinking  down  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  upon  the  undisturbed  cushions  of  a  port 
transom.  T'raps  they  took  liberties  with  a  bunch  o' 
rockets  or  a  keg  o'  powder ;  only  there  ain't  no  fire  marks 
nowhere.  All  the  booze  smashed  up,  too.  Wonder 
who's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  anyhow.  Eh!  What? 
Who  spoke?  You,  Capt'n?  No.  Oh,  you,  old  Tin- 
horn. My  word,  but  you  gave  me  a  turn.  "God"  you 
sez.  That's  what  Pilot  Loveworth  sez,  too,  and  p'raps 
it's  true;  but  what  gets  me  is  how  He  done  it.  You 
wasn't  laid  out  with  a  crack  on  the  nut,  old  Tinhorn; 
tell  us  how  it  happened.' 

« fBrrr — in  a  mysterious  way — brrr/  came  the  dron- 
ing answer,  leaving  us  no  wiser  than  before. 

"The  jolt  of  the  mate's  weary  body  had  thrown  over 
the  half-shifted  lever  of  the  already  wound-up  gramo- 
phone, which  had  been  abandoned  on  the  transom  by 
Loveworth  when  he  turned  to  receive  the  first  onslaught 
of  Boraki's  henchmen,  and  the  record  had  commenced 
to  spin.  The  sounding-box  floundered  like  a  squirrel 


"HIS  WONDERS  TO  PERFORM"      355 

on  its  wheel  as  the  black  disc,  scarred  and  littered  from 
the  explosion,  whirled  beneath  the  needle,  and  it  chanced 
that  the  only  intelligible  words  that  came  from  the  horn 
in  the  first  few  moments  were  those  which  the  astonished 
mate  had,  for  an  instant,  taken  as  answers  to  his  con- 
jectures. 

"After  learning  that  the  deed  had  been  done  in  a 
mysterious  way,  all  we  could  make  out  between  the 
fzrrrs'  and  fbzzzs'  which  followed  was  that  whoever  had 
done  the  deed  had  performed  wonders,  to  which  the 
mate  naively  replied  that  he  had  perceived  as  much  at 
the  outset,  but  that  now  he  was  seeking  enlightenment 
as  to  how  the  wonders  had  been  performed. 

"The  needle  steeple-chased  for  a  couple  of  circuits 
after  that  without  communicating  anything  relevant, 
following  which,  suddenly  and  without  warning,  it  came 
out  of  the  woods  onto  a  stretch  of  smooth,  undamaged 
going.  Then,  in  the  clear,  flute-like  tenor  of  'Harry 
McMurtry,  Columbophone  Record,'  came  the  words  of 
Loveworth's  favourite  hymn — 

'God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform.' 

"The  missionary,  who  was  kneeling  on  the  beach  in- 
voking a  blessing  on  the  heads  of  the  terrified  wretches 
who  had  come  pouring  from  their  houses  to  grovel  at 
his  feet,  told  me  afterwards  that  the  words  came  floating 
down  to  him  across  the  still  waters  of  the  lagoon  like  a 
voice  from  the  other  world. 

"That  was  all  the  comment  that  the  only  English- 
speaking  witness  of  the  miracle  wrought  by  'Hum's 
Extra  Spry'  was  destined  ever  to  make,  for  at  the  be- 


356     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

ginning  of  the  next  lap  the  needle  went  into  an  incipient 
crack  and  split  the  record  down  the  middle.  The  two 
pieces,  together  with  the  scarred  fragments  of  a  cast 
iron  top  hat,  are  still  preserved  by  Loveworth  in  the 
little  coral  mission  at  Makatea." 

The  green  bottle  on  Carew's  chair  arm  had  been  tilted 
with  increasing  frequency  as  his  story  approached  its 
climax,  and  for  the  last  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  save 
for  short  spells  when  he  had  rallied  to  explain  this  or 
that  phenomenon,  he  had  talked  with  a  far-away  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes,  as  one  who  visualizes  and  describes 
what  he  sees.  He  roused  somewhat  at  the  ripple  of  ap- 
plause which  greeted  the  end  of  the  yarn,  but  he  made 
his  adieux  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and  his  gaze  was 
blank  and  vacant  as  he  lurched  unsteadily  down  the 
gangway  to  the  Clio's  launch. 

That  was  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  the  Honourable 
"Slope"  Carew.  He  sailed  next  day  in  the  Clio  to  pilot 
that  gunboat  to  an  unmarked  rock  somewhere  to  the 
north-west  which  was  to  be  blown  up  or  charted.  A 
year  later,  while  in  Australia,  I  read  in  a  Noumea  dis- 
patch to  the  Sydney  Morning  Herald  that  he  had  shot 
himself  on  the  lawn  of  the  Cercle  Militaire  in  a  fit  of 
melancholia  following  a  night  of  absinthe  drinking. 


CHAPTER  XX 

SUVA  TO   HONOLULU 

AT  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  2nd  of  July  we 
weighed  anchor  and  slipped  from  the  quietness  of  Suva 
harbour  out  into  a  roystering  east  wind  that  was  playing 
all  manner  of  strange  pranks  with  the  placid  sea  we  had 
come  in  through  a  week  previously.  For  steep,  short 
seas  and  uncomfortable  small-schooner  weather,  nothing 
quite  equals  one  of  these  reef -locked  stretches  of  the 
south-west  Pacific  with  a  stiff  blow  on.  The  ever- 
imminent  bottom,  constantly  dragging  on  the  waves,  re- 
tards them  below  and  lets  them  keep  going  above,  pro- 
ducing seas  something  between  ocean  swells  and  lines 
of  surf.  Sailing  with  seas  of  this  description  coming 
anywhere  forward  of  the  beam  is  like  tobogganing  on  an 
uncleared  mountainside. 

Hardly  was  the  yacht  clear  of  the  harbour  before  we 
were  forced  to  begin  shortening  canvas,  and  by  eight 
o'clock  double  reefs  had  been  tied  in  the  mainsail  and 
foresail  and  the  bonnet  taken  out  of  the  forestay-sail. 
Even  then  she  made  bad  weather  of  it.  She  would 
make  a  terrific  leap  skyward,  almost  standing  on  her 
rudder  in  an  effort  to  clear  an  advancing  wave,  and  then 
crash  thunderingly  down  and  bore  her  nose  deep  into 
the  green  water  of  the  next  sea  before  her  bows  began 
lifting  again.  There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  weight 
behind  the  seas  and  they  did  little  damage ;  but  all  night 
long  they  shook  the  yacht  as  a  terrier  does  a  rat,  carried 

357 


358     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

away  a  couple  of  boat-loads  of  fresh  fruit  contributed 
by  our  Suva  friends,  and  made  sleeping  an  impossibility. 
By  morning  a  falling  wind  and  sea  made  it  possible  to 
shake  the  reefs  out  of  the  foresail  and  put  the  bonnet 
back  into  the  forestay-sail,  but  the  mainsail  languished 
all  day  with  the  most  of  its  length  along  the  boom. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  4th  the  yacht  crossed  the 
180th  Meridian,  carrying  us  back  to  West  Longitude. 
Regarding  the  unusual  sequence  of  days  on  this  occasion 
the  "Ladies'  Log"  has  the  following  entry  under  date  of 
July  3rd : 

"Yesterday  it  was  Sunday,  the  3rd;  today,  from 
twelve  P.  M.  to  four  A.  M.,  it  was  the  Fourth  of  July. 
Then  we  crossed  the  180th  Meridian,  and  it  was  again 
Sunday,  the  3rd.  Tomorrow  we  will  have  a  continua- 
tion of  the  Fourth  which  we  started  this  morning.  This 
figures  out  at  one  and  five-sixths  Sundays  and  one  and 
one-sixth  Fourths  of  July,  making  a  total  of  three  com- 
plete and  consecutive  holidays  on  which,  according  to 
nautical  custom,  the  cook  must  provide  us  with  'duff.'  " 

Levity  of  the  "Ladies'  Log"  aside,  the  coincidence 
was  a  most  remarkable  one. 

It  was  possibly  the  first  fragment  of  the  Fourth  strug- 
gling to  join  forces  with  the  unbroken  one  that  followed 
which  caused  an  hour's  diversion  on  the  morning  of  the 
latter  which  was  quite  sufficient  in  itself  to  stand  for  an 
Independence  Day  celebration.  The  wind  had  been 
light  but  steady  from  E.S.E.  all  day,  and  when  dark- 
ness fell  there  was  nothing  in  the  smooth  sea,  clear  sky 
and  high  barometer  to  point  any  reason  for  not  carry- 
ing the  light  sails  all  night.  An  easy  nine  miles  an  hour 
was  averaged  all  through  the  first  watch,  and  a  freshen- 


SUVA  TO  HONOLULU  359 

ing  of  the  breeze  shortly  after  the  sounding  of  midnight 
had  ushered  in  the  Fourth  was  responsible  for  better 
than  ten  miles  being  run  in  the  hour  immediately  fol- 
lowing. Shortly  after  one  o'clock  the  breeze,  quite  with- 
out warning,  suddenly  fell  light,  and  all  in  a  minute  the 
celebration  was  on.  What  it  was  we  managed  to  agree 
upon  the  next  morning,  and  as  to  why  it  was  the  coming 
day  also  brought  considerable  enlightenment;  how  it 
was  depended  largely  upon  one's  viewpoint,  and  no 
two  of  us  appear  to  have  seen  it  quite  in  the  same  way. 
I,  sleeping  on  a  cabin  transom  when  the  thing  happened, 
can  merely  set  down  my  own  impressions. 

With  the  startling  distinctness  with  which  the  slight- 
est sound  above  makes  itself  heard  in  the  quiet  spaces 
between  decks,  I  noted  how  the  rustle  of  the  seas  along 
the  sides  died  down  as  the  breeze  fell  light,  heard  the 
banging  of  blocks,  the  flap  of  sails,  the  slatting  of  lines, 
and  presently  the  buzz  of  voices  in  puzzled  conjecture. 
Then  a  low,  grinding  roar,  like  the  distant  sound  of  a 
dry-snow  avalanche,  began  filling  the  air,  and  instantly 
the  sharp,  incisive  voice  of  the  Commodore  cut  in,  shout- 
ing an  interminable  string  of  orders.  Suddenly  the 
sound  of  the  voices  changed  to  gasping  snarls,  the  boom 
of  boots  on  the  deck  to  far-away  rat-a-tats,  and  the 
whole  of  the  outside  Universe  seemed  to  resolve  itself 
into  one  huge  roar.  Then  a  great,  big,  solid  something 
struck  the  yacht  and  all  of  the  staterooms  lay  down  on 
their  sides,  the  lamps  swung  up  and  lay  down  against 
the  ceiling,  and  everything  movable  jumped  out  and 
lay  down  on  the  port  berths  and  transoms.  A  trunk 
broke  loose  from  its  lashings  under  the  cabin  table  and 
slid  down  to  mingle  with  a  typewriter,  a  phonograph,  a 


360    IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

couple  of  hundred  of  the  latter's  loose  records,  and,  inci- 
dentally, myself.  Shortly  a  starboard  bookcase  vomited 
its  contents  into  the  shambles,  and  a  big  bunch  of  flags- 
of-all-nations,  unrolling  as  it  came,  leaped  out  to  lend  a 
festal  touch  to  the  glad  occasion.  And  over  all,  through 
open  skylight  and  companionway,  poured  floods  of 
brine  to  keep  down  the  dust. 

Time  and  again  the  yacht  struggled  to  sit  up,  and 
as  often  settled  shudderingly  back  on  her  side.  Finally, 
the  muffled  snarl  of  orders  forced  from  a  wind-stopped 
throat  cut  down  through  the  roar,  to  be  followed  by  a 
scurrying  on  deck — tiny  and  distant  like  the  scrambling 
of  mice  over  paper — and  the  cabin  leaped  suddenly  half- 
way up  and  hung  there  quivering  as  though  balanced 
on  its  corner.  Then,  as  some  one  ran  forward  the  slide 
and  jammed  together  the  doors  of  the  companionway, 
came  the  tense  voice  of  the  Commodore,  gasping  above 
the  wind : 

"Tumble  up  lively,  you  there  below!  Come  a-runnin' 
an'  len'  a  hand  'fore  the  sticks  go  out  o'  'er!"  Then, 
more  indistinctly  as  his  face  was  turned,  "Le'  go,  there 
forrard;  le'  go!" 

A  moment  later  the  cabin  gave  another  jump  back 
toward  the  normal,  this  time  straightening  up  enough  to 
give  me  a  chance  to  burrow  out  from  under  a  stack  of 
phonograph  records  and  crawl  along  the  side  of  the  port 
transom  to  the  stairs. 

I  have  a  distinct  memory  of  how  my  head  was  bumped 
twice  in  gaining  the  deck — once  against  the  storm  doors 
of  the  companionway  and  once  against  the  wind.  The 
air,  which  was  rushing  by  as  though  all  the  atmosphere 
of  the  Universe  was  trying  to  crowd  itself  along  the  deck 


SUVA  TO  HONOLULU  361 

of  the  yacht,  felt  as  tangible  as  a  solid  stream  of  water, 
and  so  mixed  was  it  with  water,  in  fact,  that  there  was 
no  telling  where  the  surface  of  the  sea  left  off  and  the 
air  commenced.  The  hard-driven  drops  stung  like  sleet, 
and  the  act  of  breathing  with  the  face  turned  to  wind- 
ward was  a  sheer  impossibility. 

Still  heeling  heavily,  and  with  mainsail  dragging  over 
her  port  side  like  the  trailing  wing  of  a  wounded  bird, 
the  yacht  scudded  off  before  the  wind.  Withal  she  was 
making  good  weather  of  it,  and  even  before  the  coming 
of  the  rain  marked  the  passing  of  the  centre  of  the  squall 
we  had  the  main-boom  amidships  and  the  troublesome 
mainsail  hauled  aboard.  The  deck  was  a  fathom  deep 
in  flapping  sails  and  up  forward  a  water-butt  and  a  salt 
beef  barrel  were  having  a  lively  game  of  tag,  but  neither 
of  the  boats  had  started  its  lashings  and  none  of  the  sky- 
lights was  smashed.  Most  of  the  damage  was  done  to 
the  storm-tossed  contents  of  the  cabin.  By  daybreak 
the  deck  was  cleared  and  the  yacht,  under  all-plain  sail, 
headed  again  on  her  north-westerly  course. 

Our  "Independence  Day  Celebration,"  as  we  after- 
wards had  explained  to  us  in  Honolulu,  was  what  is 
commonly  referred  to  in  the  South  Pacific  as  a  "leeward 
squall."  This  phenomenon  is  met  with  only  among 
volcanic  islands  high  enough  to  allow  the  wind  to  draw 
around  them  and  meet  again  in  "twisters"  a  few  miles 
to  leeward.  If  the  wind  holds  steady  from  one  direction 
this  ordinarily  makes  little  trouble,  but  if  it  chances  to 
haul  two  or  three  points  ahead  when  a  ship  is  passing  a 
high  island  the  squall  which  comes  boring  in  from  lee- 
ward may  take  her  aback  with  disastrous  results.  Trad- 
ing captains  passing  under  the  lee  of  islands  of  this  de- 


362     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

scription  always  go  under  shortened  sail.  Light  sails  of 
all  kinds  are  unpopular  in  the  South  Pacific — one  never 
sees  a  trading  schooner  with  a  topmast  on  the  fore,  and 
not  all  carry  them  on  the  main. 

It  was  a  "leeward  squall"  of  unusual  force  that  Lur- 
line  encountered  on  the  morning  of  the  Fourth  of  July, 
and  considering  the  fact  that,  with  the  exception  of  her 
foretopsail,  she  was  carrying  all  the  sail  she  had,  the 
Commodore's  work  in  bringing  her  through  unharmed 
was  creditable  in  the  extreme.  From  so  unexpected  a 
quarter  did  the  squall  appear  that  only  the  briefest  space 
was  allowed  for  preparation;  yet  in  these  two  or  three 
minutes  all  hands  were  called,  the  maintopmast  staysail 
and  maingaff topsail  were  lowered  to  the  deck,  the  jib- 
topsail  and  flying  jib  hauled  down  and  furled,  the  ship 
put  about  on  the  other  tack,  the  jib  furled,  and  men  sta- 
tioned at  the  halyards  fore  and  aft.  All  of  this  was  ac- 
complished before  the  squall  struck,  which  then  left 
nothing  to  do  but  let  go  the  halyards  when  it  became 
apparent  that  the  force  of  the  wind  was  too  great  for  the 
yacht  to  stand  up  under.  With  the  wind  coming  as  it 
was,  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  the  mainsail's  falling 
in  the  water. 

By  the  afternoon  of  the  Fourth  we  were  out  of  sight 
of  the  last  of  the  Fijis  and  again  dependent  on  observa- 
tions for  our  position.  It  was  our  intention  to  call  in  at 
Fanning  Island  on  our  way  to  Hawaii,  to  which  end  the 
yacht  was  kept  headed  north-east  whenever  possible,  a 
course  two  points  more  easterly  than  the  direct  one  to 
Honolulu.  With  a  light  south-east  wind  119  miles  were 
run  up  to  noon  of  the  5th,  soon  after  which  a  shift  to 
N.N.E.  forced  us  to  go  about  and  head  nearly  due  east 


A  FIJIAN  WARRIOR 


SUVA  TO  HONOLULU  363 

all  afternoon.  Toward  dark  it  fell  calm  and  but  three 
miles  were  run  between  six  o'clock  and  midnight.  By 
the  6th  the  wind  was  back  to  south-east,  but  blowing 
with  little  force,  the  run  to  noon  of  that  day  being  but 
forty- five  miles. 

A  strong  westerly  current  Degan  making  itself  felt 
about  this  time— Lat.  14°  06'  South,  and  Long.  176°  04' 
West — which  gradually  worked  more  to  the  north  as  we 
approached  the  Line.  On  the  6th  it  set  us  eighteen 
miles  to  the  west ;  on  the  7th,  twenty  miles  to  W.N.  W. ; 
on  the  8th,  eighteen  miles  to  N. W. ;  and  on  the  next  four 
days  from  twenty-four  to  thirty  miles  to  N.N.W.  This 
was  considerably  more  of  a  current  than  the  Sailing 
Directions  indicate  for  those  latitudes. 

In  the  forenoon  of  the  7th  the  wind  hauled  to  the 
north-east,  blowing  strong  from  that  direction  until 
four  in  the  afternoon,  when,  without  abating  in  strength, 
it  went  back  to  east.  Toward  midnight  a  heavy  squall 
struck  the  yacht,  and  while  furling  the  jib  a  foot  rope 
gave  way  under  Bill,  a  big  Dane  of  the  mate's  watch, 
and  only  a  lucky  grab  at  the  bobstay  saved  him  from 
being  swept  away.  The  yacht  put  her  nose  under  a 
couple  of  feet  of  green  water  at  the  same  instant  Bill 
went  down,  giving  him  a  fearful  ducking,  but  the  plucky 
fellow  swung  up  to  the  bowsprit  the  moment  it  arose 
from  the  sea  and  finished  his  work  without  a  murmur. 

On  the  8th,  9th  and  10th  the  wind  continued  fresh 
but  persisted  in  shifting  back  and  forth  in  heavy  rain- 
squalls  between  east  and  north-east,  making  it  impos- 
sible to  hold  one  course  for  more  than  an  hour  or  two 
at  a  time.  The  runs  for  these  days  were  127,  125  and 
126  miles,  respectively.  On  the  9th  and  10th  we  passed 


364     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

straight  through  the  middle  of  the  Union  Group,  but 
so  far  from  any  of  the  islands  that  their  presence  was 
indicated  only  by  the  sight  of  an  occasional  land  bird. 
This  group  is  composed  only  of  low  atolls  which  are  but 
sparsely  watered  and  thinly  inhabited.  On  the  llth  the 
sky  was  completely  overcast,  making  observations  im- 
possible, and  the  day  was  one  long  succession  of  baffling 
winds  and  fierce  rain-squalls.  This  succeeded  to  a  dead 
calm,  the  yacht  lying  all  night  with  the  booms  hauled 
amidships  and  the  sails  furled. 

In  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  of  the  12th  the  yacht 
sailed  under  a  black  cornucopia-shaped  cloud  which  we 
had  been  watching  for  some  time  as  it  lay  in  wait  across 
our  path.  As  we  ran  into  the  misty  tail,  which  hung  so 
low  as  to  seem  almost  dragging  in  the  sea,  a  veritable 
deluge  of  water  broke  upon  us.  The  downpour  was  so 
fierce  as  to  threaten  for  a  while  to  break  in  the  skylights 
and  flood  the  cabins.  The  water  accumulated  so  fast 
on  the  deck  that  the  scuppers  would  not  carry  it  off, 
and  when  the  rain  was  falling  heaviest  the  cockpit  was 
flooded  a  foot  deep.  The  cataclysm  ceased  as  quickly 
as  it  had  commenced,  not  by  passing  on  like  an  ordinary 
squall,  but  simply  by  exhausting  its  fount.  By  the  time 
the  air  was  clear  of  water  the  black  cloud  had  drawn  up 
into  itself  and  disappeared. 

After  four  more  days  of  variable  winds,  at  four  in 
the  morning  of  the  16th,  we  crossed  the  Equator  in 
Long.  163°  07'.  The  wind  was  fresh  from  E.N.E.  and 
the  air  (82°)  and  the  water  (80°)  were  each  a  degree 
cooler  than  for  several  days.  The  evening  was  marked 
by  an  unusually  brilliant  sunset. 

Neither  our  rate  of  progress  to  this  point,  nor  the 


SUVA  TO  HONOLULU  365 

course  we  had  travelled,  were  all  that  might  have  been 
desired.  Oh  the  12th  we  made  but  forty  miles  and  on 
the  three  following  days  an  average  of  about  140  miles 
each.  The  course  approximated  N.N.E.,  all  of  two 
points  to  the  leeward  of  the  direct  track  to  Fanning 
Island. 

To  noon  of  the  17th  there  was  a  run  of  161  miles, 
which  placed  us  due  east  of  Fanning  Island  and  at  a 
distance  of  about  150  miles.  The  next  twenty-four 
hours  were  spent  in  beating  in  short  tacks  against  a  wind 
which  had  settled  itself  contentedly  to  blow  straight 
down  our  course.  By  noon  of  the  18th,  having  gained 
but  sixty-two  miles  in  the  day's  run,  we  gave  up  trying 
to  make  Fanning  Island  and  slacked  off  sheets  for 
Honolulu.  Twelve  hours  later  the  wind,  blowing  half 
a  gale,  had  hauled  up  to  north-east,  forcing  us  to  close- 
reef  mainsail  and  foresail  and  head  off  to  N.  by  W. 

Washington  Island,  lying  in  about  Lat.  5°  North, 
and  Long.  160°  West,  the  only  land  we  sighted  between 
Fiji  and  Hawaii,  was  on  the  horizon  for  several  hours 
of  the  19th.  The  wind  continued  as  fitful  as  south  of 
the  Equator.  By  keeping  the  yacht  close-hauled  all 
the  time  we  usually  managed  to  hold  her  on  the  right 
side  of  N.  by  E.,  the  course  to  Honolulu,  but  it  was  a 
rough,  slap-bang,  ding-dong  task.  Of  this  period  the 
"Ladies'  Log,"  under  date  of  July  20th,  records  as 
follows : 

"Lurline  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  coral  island 
last  night,  so  thick  were  the  reefs  upon  her.  'The  sea 
is  going  down,'  cries  the  Commodore  cheerily  early  in 
the  evening.  'Ay,'  answers  the  mate;  'most  of  it  is  go- 
ing down  through  the  galley  skylight.'  And  sure 


366     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

enough  it  was.  Contrary  winds  are  forcing  us  to  make 
considerable  westing  and  the  heavy  sea  cuts  down  our 
speed,  the  main  element  in  linear  progression.  Reefs 
were  shaken  out  at  eight  this  morning  and  tied  in  again 
at  seven  this  evening,  the  constant  succession  of  one  to 
the  other  during  the  last  few  days  eliciting  the  sugges- 
tion from  the  mate  that  the  reefs  had  best  be  padlocked 
in  and  the  key  thrown  away." 

Most  of  the  following  week  was  spent  in  reefing  and 
unreefing  and  tacking  this  way  and  that  at  the  caprice 
of  the  wind.  The  sea  was  heavy  most  of  the  time  and 
the  progress  slow,  the  best  days'  runs  being  those  of  the 
23rd  and  24th,  when  147  and  142  miles,  respectively, 
were  made.  On  none  of  the  other  days  was  there  a  run 
of  over  100  miles,  and  on  the  21st  only  fifty-one  was 
marked  up.  On  the  27th,  though  150  miles  west  of 
the  high  island  of  Hawaii,  we  cut  into  the  tip  of  the 
windless  triangle  which  lies  under  the  lee  of  its  13,000- 
foot  peaks  and  for  several  hours  floated  without  steer- 
ageway.  When  we  got  the  wind  again  in  the  afternoon 
it  was  noticed  at  once  that  the  log  was  acting  in  an  ec- 
centric manner,  and  on  investigation  its  blades  were 
found  to  be  bent  and  twisted  and  heavily  scarred,  appar- 
ently by  the  teeth  of  some  large  fish. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  28th  the  green 
peaks  of  Oahu  were  sighted  on  the  weather  bow,  distant 
sixty-five  miles.  With  a  light  east  wind  the  yacht 
averaged  between  four  and  five  knots  during  the  night 
and  at  four  A.  M.  was  six  miles  off  the  Barber  Point 
Light,  which  bore  N.  by  W.  This  was  some  miles  to  the 
leeward  of  Honolulu,  and  four  hours  of  beating  were 
necessary  to  bring  us  opposite  the  entrance.  Here  we 


SUVA  TO  HONOLULU  367 

were  boarded  by  the  pilot  at  eight  o'clock,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  the  tug,  Fearless,  dispatched  through  the 
courtesy  of  the  Spreckels  Company,  passed  a  line  to  the 
yacht  and  towed  her  in.  We  anchored  in  Rotten  Row, 
with  mooring  lines  made  fast  to  the  identical  old  man- 
of-war  boilers  from  which  they  had  been  cast  loose  on 
our  departure  for  the  Marquesas,  four  months  pre- 
viously. 

From  the  sailing  standpoint  this  run  was  the  most  un- 
satisfactory of  the  voyage.  Twenty-seven  days  were 
required  to  cover  3000  miles,  an  average  of  but  little 
over  a  hundred  miles  a  day.  Practically  all  of  this  time 
the  yacht  was  close-hauled,  and  a  total  of  at  least  three 
days  was  spent  in  tiresome  beating  against  a  wind  which 
blew  straight  from  our  destination.  It  is  possible  that 
two  or  three  days  might  have  been  saved  had  we  made 
a  fair  wind  of  the  south-east  Trades  instead  of  keeping 
close-hauled  in  an  endeavour  to  make  Fanning  Island; 
but  this  is  by  no  means  certain,  as  the  easting  gained  at 
this  time  stood  us  in  good  stead  when  the  north-east 
Trades  were  encountered. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HONOLULU   TO   SAN   PEDRO 

THE  two  weeks  spent  ashore  during  Lurline's  return 
visit  to  Honolulu  were  a  welcome  respite  from  the  four 
months  of  unbroken  life  on  shipboard  that  had  preceded 
them.  The  absence  of  the  passengers  was  taken  advan- 
tage of  to  give  the  yacht  a  thorough  overhauling  in 
preparation  for  the  long,  hard  beat  back  to  San  Pedro, 
especial  care  being  taken  in  the  renewal  of  the  running 
rigging.  Moreover,  as  we  were  scheduled  for  a  short 
stop  at  Hilo  and  confidently  expected  to  run  down  with 
a  fair  wind  and  arrive  there  all  ready  to  receive  calls, 
unusual  attention  was  given  to  brasswork  and  hardwood. 
Thus  our  plans ;  how  they  worked  out  will  appear  pres- 
ently. 

On  the  evening  of  August  4th  the  Royal  Hawaiian 
Yacht  Club  gave  a  banquet  for  the  Lurline  party, 
among  other  amenities  of  the  occasion  being  the  election 
of  the  Commodore  to  an  honorary  life  membership  in 
that  organization.  In  his  speech  of  acceptance  the 
Commodore  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  ideal  sailing 
conditions  existent  in  the  Trades  latitudes  of  both  North 
and  South  Pacific,  and  suggested  as  a  means  of  bring- 
ing those  waters  more  closely  to  the  attention  of  coast 
yachtsmen,  the  inauguration  of  an  annual  race,  in  one 
direction  or  other,  between  Honolulu  and  a  California 
port.  The  idea  was  not  entirely  a  new  one  to  Hawaiian 
yachtsmen,  but  the  Commodore's  assurance  of  the  hearty 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO          369 

co-operation  of  the  South  Coast  Yacht  Club  of  San 
Pedro  gave  the  movement  an  impetus  which  resulted  in 
the  establishment  of  the  Trans-Pacific  Yacht  Race  as  a 
regular  biennial  fixture.  Too  much  credit  cannot  be 
given  to  the  people  of  Hawaii,  both  in  and  out  of  yacht- 
ing circles,  for  the  enthusiastic  sportsmanship  which 
has  made  this,  the  only  regular  deep-sea  yacht  race  that 
is  sailed  in  any  part  of  the  world,  an  accomplished  fact. 

At  this  banquet,  also,  were  arranged  the  details  for  a 
match  race  between  two  old  rivals,  Tom  Hobron's  sloop, 
Gladys,  and  Clarence  McFarlane's  schooner,  La  Pa- 
loma.  It  was  decided  that  the  yachts  should  run  down 
to  Lahina,  on  the  island  of  Maui,  remain  there  for  a 
day  or  two  and  then  race  back  to  Honolulu.  As  the 
date  of  the  start,  August  10th,  about  coincided  with 
that  on  which  we  were  planning  to  sail  for  Hilo,  and  as 
Lahina  was  but  little  off  our  course,  the  opportunity  of 
following  the  race  seemed  too  good  to  neglect.  Ac- 
cordingly a  party  of  our  friends  was  asked  to  accom- 
pany us,  and  preparations  made  to  start  the  ball  rolling 
with  a  musical  send-off  in  Honolulu  and  stop  it,  at  the 
disembarkation  of  our  guests  in  Lahina,  with  fireworks. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  racers  at  Lahina — of  course  Lur- 
line  would  arrive  first — our  friends  were  to  go  ashore 
and  await  the  steamer,  while  we  proceeded  on  to  Hilo. 
Never  was  a  schedule  more  carefully  elaborated — even 
the  gastronomical  preferences  of  each  individual  guest 
were  consulted — and  never  did  a  party  of  pleasure-seek- 
ers board  a  yacht  with  such  firm  intentions — expressed 
and  implied — of  enjoying,  unmixedly  and  uninterrupt- 
edly, a  really  good  time. 

The  water-front  was  gay  with  flags  and  black  with 


370     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

people  when,  early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  10th,  we  hove 
up  anchor  and  filled  away  for  the  passage,  following  in 
the  wakes  of  Gladys  and  La  Paloma.  It  was  " Aloha, 
Aloha  Nui"  from  every  pier  and  dock  and  bulkhead, 
that  we  passed  as  we  stood  down  the  bay,  and  "Aloha, 
Aloha''  from  every  tug  and  schooner.  At  the  landing 
of  the  boat  club,  at  the  inner  end  of  the  passage,  was  a 
big  crowd  of  friends  with  the  band,  and  from  there  the 
"Alohas"  again  burst  forth  as  we  sailed  smartly  by,  run- 
ning at  an  easy  five  or  six-knot  gait  before  a  light  but 
steady  breeze. 

As  the  yacht  entered  the  passage  and  made  her  first 
curtesy  to  the  ocean  swell,  the  band  struck  up  Aloha-oe, 
and  the  crowd,  falling  silent  for  the  moment,  vented  its 
feelings  in  a  flood  of  waving  handkerchiefs.  Simul- 
taneously, a  similar  muslin  broadside  flashed  forth  in 
reply  from  the  port  side  of  the  speeding  yacht,  and  then, 
with  friends  looking  in  the  eyes  of  friends  and  the  whole 
affair — even  to  the  music — going  off  as  smoothly  and 
dramatically  as  Lohengrin's  Farewell  in  an  end-of-the- 
season  performance,  the  lashing  of  the  fishing-tackle 
block  on  the  forestay  parted  and  let  the  anchor  and 
thirty-five  fathoms  of  chain  slide  back  into  the  sea. 

An  atmosphere  histrionic  gave  way  to  one  profanely 
sulphurous,  for  in  addition  to  spoiling  the  dramatic  ef- 
fect of  our  departure,  the  contretemps  left  the  yacht  in 
a  really  awkward  position.  The  wheel  was  thrown  hard 
down  and  mainsail  and  foresail  sheets  let  go  with  all 
possible  dispatch,  but  not  in  time  to  prevent  her  from 
rollicking  on  to  the  limit  of  her  cable  and  bringing  up 
short  like  a  colt  at  the  end  of  its  tether.  Then  she 
swung  round,  head  to  the  wind,  and  began  tugging  at 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO         371 

her  anchor  as  a  colt  tugs  at  its  halter  in  trying  to  slip  it 
over  its  ears.  While  the  sailors  wound  away  on  the 
winch  in  the  thin,  blue  smoke  that  still  hovered  forward 
—the  mate  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  cuticle  from  the 
inside  of  his  hand  in  trying  to  check  the  run  of  the 
cable — our'  amiable  guests  brought  up  sofa  pillows  on 
the  quarter  deck  and,  making  megaphones  of  their 
hands,  held  long  and  animated  conversations  with  their 
friends  on  the  landing  of  the  boat  club. 

Getting  under  way  in  the  narrow  passage  was  by  no 
means  a  simple  operation,  but,  thanks  largely  to  a 
favourable  set  of  current,  it  was  accomplished  without 
accident.  Gladys  and  La  Paloma  were  something  more 
than  hull  down  to  the  south  by  the  time  Lurline  was 
clear  of  the  reef,  but  with  a  fair  wind,  which  was  increas- 
ing steadily  as  we  worked  from  under  the  lee  of  the 
land,  it  was  hoped  to  overcome  their  lead  in  time  to  give 
our  guests  a  good  view  of  the  race.  Lurline  gained 
rapidly  while  daylight  lasted,  and  by  the  time  the  ban- 
ners of  a  brilliant  sunset  fluttered  low  in  the  west  and 
Tantalus  disappeared  behind  the  dusky  pall  of  the  com- 
ing night  we  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  accomplish  our 
purpose. 

Never  was  there  such  a  night;  never  so  jolly  a  yacht- 
ing party.  The  slow-heaving  sea,  bathed  in  a  flood  of 
moonlight,  was  a-dazzle  in  dimples  of  liquid,  lucent  gold; 
the  sky  was  a  star-set  vault  of  purple,  and  the  breeze, 
milk-warm  and  redolent  of  the  smell  of  some  distant, 
flower-clothed  valley,  a  caress  from  heaven.  The  tem- 
per of  the  party  matched  the  night. 

Dinner  was  a  huge  success.  There  were  a  few  neg- 
ligible incidentals  of  the  soup,  fish,  roast  and  salad  order, 


372     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

preliminary  to  a  huge  feast  of  preserves  made  of  every 
known  variety  of  Hawaiian  fruit  from  mangoes  to 
mummy-apples,  sugared  down  in  jars  at  all  known 
stages  of  ripeness  and  unripeness.  These,  with  count- 
less boxes  of  candy  and  fresh  fruit,  were  the  contribu- 
tions of  our  guests  and  their  friends.  And  how  we  did 
eat,  and  drink  each  other's  healths,  and  with  what  accla- 
mation agree  that,  never  since  the  voyage  of  the  Argo- 
nauts, had  cruise  been  so  auspiciously  begun.  Banjos 
and  ukuleles  were  a-twang  and  a-tinkle  on  the  after 
deck,  accordions  and  a  bugle  wailed  and  brayed  from  the 
forecastle,  and  through  it  all  ran  a  fog-horn  obligate 
played  by  a  festive  Hawaiian  miss  who  had  unearthed 
that  instrument  of  torture  from  the  lazarette. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  wind  died  down  and  the  yacht, 
deprived  of  its  steadying  influence,  fell  more  and  more 
under  the  disturbing  sway  of  the  swinging  swells  from 
the  channel.  Before  long  a  decided  current  became  ap- 
parent, running  with  the  seas  and  setting  us  rapidly 
toward  the  rocks  of  Makapu-u  Point.  At  midnight 
Diamond  Head  Light,  which  is  arranged  so  as  to  change 
colour  to  the  ship  passing  shoreward  of  the  danger  line, 
showed  ominously  in  a  solid  beam  of  warning  red.  And 
still  the  yacht  continued  to  drift,  with  the  land  looming 
higher  and  the  threatening  roar  of  the  surf  on  the  reef 
growing  louder  every  minute. 

From  rolling  but  gently  when  she  first  dropped  the 
wind,  the  yacht,  in  the  wrench  of  the  steeper  seas  nearer 
shore,  was  shortly  executing  a  pas  seul  of  singular  in- 
tricacy and  animation;  so  that  our  guests — frankly, 
openly  and  unfeignedly  seasick,  every  one  of  them— 
from  a  half  hour  of  fear  that  they  were  going  to  be  cast 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO          373 

on  the  reef  and  drowned,  relapsed  into  an  indefinite 
period  in  which  they  were  afraid  that  perhaps  nothing 
of  so  felicitous  a  nature  was  going  to  befall  after  all. 
Bundling  the  sufferers  below  as  gently  as  the  exigency 
permitted,  the  boats  were  cleared  and  swung  out  ready 
for  launching.  Towing  off,  in  the  face  of  swells  and 
current  so  persistent,  held  scant  promise  of  success,  but 
we  were  about  to  try  it  as  a  last  expedient  when  the  sails 
began  filling  with  vagrant  puffs  from  an  awakening 
Trade-wind,  and  we  slacked  off  sheets  and  got  away 
without  putting  it  to  the  test. 

The  rest  of  the  night  we  spent  in  crabbing  across  the 
lumpy  channel,  to  come  out  in  the  grey  dawn  upon  a 
windless  patch  of  swell  and  current-churned  water  in 
the  lee  of  Molokai  which,  of  all  the  fiend-infested  cor- 
ners of  the  Seven  Seas,  is  the  spot  most  accursed. 
Steep,  viciously-heaving  humps  of  water,  wallowing 
without  rhythm  or  reason,  wrangled  angrily  to  see  which 
could  pitch  or  roll  the  yacht  farthest  in  its  own  particu- 
lar direction.  She  was  like  a  kitten  thrown  to  a  pack 
of  hungry  hounds.  They  pulled  her,  hauled  her,  rolled 
her,  dragged  her,  tossed  her  on  high  and  trampled  her 
underfoot.  Not  all  the  other  rough-and-rowdy  inter- 
vals of  the  whole  cruise  crowded  into  a  single  day  could 
have  compared  with  it  for  the  sheer  discomfort  it  im- 
posed. All  but  two  of  the  sailors,  and  the  cook  as  well, 
were  violently  seasick.  Only  a  couple  of  us  of  the  regu- 
lar guard  of  Lurline  were  holding  up  our  heads,  and  the 
guests  were  a  unit  of  prostrate  despair.  Not  a  bed  or  a 
bunk  on  the  yacht  was  tenantable  in  the  fearful  rollings ; 
no  bed  or  bunk  less  than  a  covered  box  could  have  been. 
Everything  not  screwed  or  lashed  into  place — and  even 


374     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

many  objects  which  had  been  thus  secured — sought  the 
lowest  level,  and  a  survey  of  the  cabin,  looking  forward 
from  the  foot  of  the  companionway,  suggested  some- 
thing between  a  tableau  of  the  aftermath  of  Belshazzar's 
Feast  and  the  Kishneff  massacres  staged  in  a  second- 
hand store.  Banjos,  ukuleles,  fog-horn,  no  longer 
thrilling  to  the  touch  of  the  revellers,  complained  inter- 
mittently with  muffled  chords  of  protest  as  they  rolled 
drunkenly  to  port  and  starboard  with  the  lurches  of  the 
yacht.  And  as  for  the  revellers  themselves — but  the 
Hand  of  Charity  throws  the  Helm  of  Description  hard- 
a-lee  and  sends  me  off  before  the  Wind  of  Pity  on  an- 
other tack. 

We  have  since  estimated  that  this  slap-banging  ten 
hours  of  "devil  and  the  deep  sea"  in  the  lee  of  Molokai 
did  more  damage  to  the  yacht's  rigging  than  all  of  the 
four  months  of  cruising  south  of  the  Line.  Most  of 
this  became  apparent  in  subsequent  overhaulings ;  at  the 
time  the  principal  trouble  arose  through  the  repeated 
carrying  away  of  the  boom-tackle.  This  happened  four 
times:  once  through  the  splitting  of  the  block,  a  flying 
fragment  of  which  narrowly  missed  decapitating  the 
man  at  the  wheel;  once  through  the  tearing  loose  of  the 
cleat  on  the  boom;  twice  through  the  breaking  of  the 
wire  lashing  on  the  boom.  How  the  yacht  escaped  be- 
ing racked  to  pieces  in  the  crazy  tug-of-war  between 
the  keel,  on  the  one  side,  trying  to  hold  her  to  the  nor- 
mal, and  on  the  other  the  waves,  savagely  bent  on  throw- 
ing her  on  her  beam's  ends  or  standing  her  on  bowsprit 
or  rudder,  has  always  remained  a  mystery  to  us. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  a  light  breeze  sprang  up 
from  the  south.  We  were  still  somewhat  nearer  to 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO         375 

Honolulu  than  Lahina,  which,  with  the  fact  that  the 
wind  was  fair  to  the  former  port  and  dead  ahead  to  the 
latter,  quickly  decided  us  as  to  what  our  course  would 
be.  Under  all-plain  lower  sail  we  made  the  thirty-two 
miles  to  Diamond  Head  in  three  hours  and  a  half,  only 
to  fail — probably  on  account  of  the  hour — in  our  en- 
deavour to  attract  a  pilot.  Finally  we  were  forced  to 
lower  a  boat,  which,  with  some  difficulty,  got  through 
the  reef  at  Waikiki  and  landed  a  man  to  telephone  for  a 
tug.  The  Waterwitch  came  out  in  due  time  and  towed 
the  yacht  to  her  old  anchorage  in  Rotten  Row.  Our 
guests,  as  fast  as  they  revived,  went  eagerly  ashore. 
Gladys  and  La  Paloma,  as  we  subsequently  learned, 
after  nearly  going  on  the  rocks  of  Rabbit  Island  the 
same  night  that  Lurline  was  threatened  with  similar 
disaster  on  Makapu-u  Point,  continued  the  race  to  La- 
hina, Gladys,  as  usual,  winning. 

On  the  forenoon  of  the  13th,  after  a  day  spent  in  ef- 
fecting such  renewals  and  repairs  as  were  absolutely 
necessary,  we  again  set  sail  for  the  island  of  Hawaii. 
We  left  with  the  intention  of  proceeding  to  Kawahaie, 
on  the  leeward  side  of  the  island,  to  pick  up  our  friend, 
Eben  Low,  who  had  a  ranch  in  that  district,  and  carry 
him  on  to  Hilo.  A  glance  at  the  chart,  however,  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  the  course  to  this  point  would  ex- 
pose us  to  possible  calms  in  the  lees  of  Molokai  and 
Maui,  and  the  idea  was  promptty  given  up.  So  we 
sailed  the  windward  course,  and  even  by  that  met 
weather  which  dragged  out  to  over  three  days  a  run 
which  we  had  hoped  to  make  in  a  little  more  than  one. 
At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  16th  we  were  off 
Hilo  harbour,  but  unable  to  enter  for  lack  of  wind.  An 


376     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

anchorage  was  finally  reached  at  the  end  of  a  tow-line 
kindly  passed  us  by  the  freighter,  Charles  Councelman. 

We  remained  in  Hilo  five  days,  renewing  old  ac- 
quaintances and  allowing  the  crew  opportunity  still  fur- 
ther to  repair  the  ravages  of  that  night  of  accursed  mem- 
ory in  the  lee  of  Molokai.  The  bay,  with  its  mile  or 
more  of  exposure  to  the  north-east — the  quarter  of  the 
prevailing  wind — was  as  uncomfortable  as  ever  to  lie 
in,  the  yacht,  without  sails  to  steady  her,  rolling  and 
pitching  much  of  the  time  more  violently  than  in  the 
open  sea.  Fortunately  there  was  no  heavy  weather  of 
the  kind  that  throws  up  a  line  of  surf  across  the  rive,- 
entrance  and  makes  it  impossible  to  land  in  boats  for 
days  at  a  time.  Hilo  harbour  is  badly  in  need  of  ex- 
tensive protective  works. 

Shortly  before  noon  of  the  21st  of  August,  Lurline 
left  anchorage  in  Hilo  homeward  bound  for  San  Pedro. 
Close-hauled  on  the  starboard  tack  to  a  light  northeast 
wind,  we  stood  out  of  the  harbour,  dipping  to  several 
steamers  and  sailing  vessels  whose  crews  lined  up  to 
give  us  good-bye  cheers  as  we  passed.  Outside  the  wind 
was  coming  in  weighty  gusts,  and  a  rumpled,  squally- 
looking  northeast  seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  a  barometer 
that  was  soaring  optimistically  around  30.05.  The  in- 
strument had  its  way,  however,  for  the  squalls  worked 
off  inland  in  a  couple  of  hours,  leaving  us  with  a  steady 
E.N.E.  wind  and  a  brilliant  fair-weather  sky  full  of 
cottony  Trade-clouds.  At  three  o'clock,  when  we  took 
departure  with  Alia  Point  bearing  S.W.  %  W.,  dis- 
tant six  miles,  a  course  of  N.N.E.  was  set,  to  be  held 
with  scarcely  a  quarter  of  a  point's  deviation  for  four 
days. 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO         377 

On  the  23rd  two  steamers  were  sighted  heading  S.S. 
W.,  probably  for  Honolulu.  These  were  the  first  ships 
seen  in  the  open  sea  since  the  sails  of  a  bark,  hull  down 
on  the  horizon,  were  sighted  a  few  days  after  leaving 
San  Pedro,  seven  months  previously.  These  three  con- 
fused blurs  against  the  skyline,  all  of  them  too  distant 
to  signal,  were  the  nearest  approach  to  company  that 
Lurline  knew  during  the  entire  cruise.  Probably  no 
other  circumstance  could  so*  strikingly  illustrate  the 
utter  loneliness  of  the  mid-Pacific.  Anywhere  south  of 
Hawaii,  off  the  tracks  of  the  two  Australian- American 
steamship  lines,  the  crew  of  a  disabled  ship  might  float 
for  ten  years — or  ten  times  ten  years — without  smoke  or 
sail  breaking  the  smooth  line  of  the  horizon. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  25th  the  watch  reported 
a  lunar  rainbow,  and  all  hands,  fore  and  aft,  tumbled 
out  on  deck  to  view  the  unusual  phenomenon.  The  full 
moon  was  shining  brightly  from  a  clear  sky  to  the 
southwest,  having  sunk  to  about  thirty  degrees  from 
the  horizon.  Up  to  the  northeast  a  fluffy  bank  of  dove- 
grey  clouds  were  heaped  half-way  to  the  zenith,  and 
against  this,  an  unbroken  arch  of  mother-of-pearl,  the 
rainbow  stood  clearly  forth.  From  red  to  violet,  all 
the  colours  of  the  spectrum  were  there  just  as  in  a  solar 
rainbow,  yet  shining  with  a  light  elusive  and  unearthly 
where  the  spectral  hands  that  fashioned  it  had  woven  a 
warp  of  moonshine  into  the  woof  of  the  blended  irides- 
ence.  Twice  it  faded  and  reappeared  before  dissolving 
for  the  last  time  in  the  first  flush  of  a  sparkling  daisy 
and  daffodil  sunrise. 

For  some  days  after  leaving  Hilo  the  wind  held 
steadily  from  the  northeast,  forcing  us  several  points  to 


378     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

the  north  of  a  direct  course  to  San  Pedro.  Crowded 
close  on  the  wind  all  the  time,  the  yacht  made  slow 
headway,  averaging  but  little  better  than  120  miles  a 
day.  On  the  26th,  however,  the  wind  veered  to  south- 
east, and  on  the  three  days  that  it  remained  in  that 
quarter  runs  of  143,  188  and  176  miles,  respectively, 
were  registered.  This  was  followed  by  a  spell  of  calm, 
and  that  by  a  succession  of  days  of  varying,  uncertain 
weather  and  head-winds,  which  held  all  the  way  to  San 
Pedro.  Most  of  this  latter  period  the  wind  was  mod- 
erate and  the  sea  light,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that 
both  fore  and  main  gafftopsails  were  carried,  day  and 
night,  from  the  afternoon  of  August  24th  to  the  morn- 
ing of  September  4th,  ten  and  a  half  days. 

In  the  evening  of  September  3rd,  at  about  Lat.  34° 
north,  Long.  133°  west,  we  encountered  our  first  fog, 
and  from  that  time  on  were  hampered  more  or  less  by 
thick  weather  all  the  way  to  port,  which  we  reached  a 
week  later.  The  brilliant  tropical  days  of  sunshine  and 
squalls  succeeded  to  dull  temperate  days  of  much  cloud- 
iness and  little  wind  and  rain.  Some  days  the  fog  was 
high  and  troublesome  only  in  making  observations  im- 
possible; on  others  it  settled  down  close  to  the  sea  in 
banks  so  dense  that  the  main  truck  was  not  visible  from 
the  deck.  On  these  latter  occasions,  though  it  was  not 
likely  that  there  was  another  ship  within  500  miles, 
prudence  had  the  call  and  our  little  hand-cranked  fog- 
horn— the  same  that  had  figured  in  the  revels  of  our 
guests  the  night  that  the  yacht  nearly  went  on  the 
rocks  of  Oahu — was  kept  incessantly  at  work. 

Between  fogs  and  light  and  baffling  winds,  our  prog- 
ress for  the  latter  half  of  this  traverse  was  slower  than 


HONOLULU  TO  SAN  PEDRO         379 

for  any  other  similar  period  of  the  voyage.  On  but 
three  of  the  last  nine  days  did  the  yacht  log  over  100 
miles,  these  being  the  4th  of  September,  153  miles,  and 
the  8th,  150  miles.  The  runs  for  the  other  five  days 
were  twenty-six,  forty-six,  forty-seven,  eighty-seven, 
and  sixty-seven  miles,  respectively.  The  winds,  for  the 
most  part,  were  northeasterly,  but  the  comparatively 
good  run  of  the  8th  was  made  with  a  very  light  but 
steady  breeze  from  the  west. 

Several  land  birds  came  aboard  on  the  morning  of 
the  10th,  and  not  long  afterward  the  brown  slopes  of 
Santa  Rosa  Island  took  shape  through  the  lifting  fog. 
The  heavens  were  overcast  all  day,  but  for  a  brief  space 
in  the  afternoon  a  long  strip  of  cloud  ran  back  across 
the  east  like  a  sliding  door,  and  through  the  rift  we 
had  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  rugged  Sierra  Madres,  a  hun- 
dred miles  distant,  standing  sharp  and  distinct  in  a  flood 
of  sunshine  against  a  vivid  background  of  California 
sky. 

Doing  the  best  we  could  with  puffs  of  wind  that  came 
by  turn  from  all  points  of  the  compass,  we  crept  along 
at  three  or  four  miles  an  hour  until  midnight.  Then  it 
fell  dead  calm,  and  during  the  next  eight  hours  the  log 
recorded  but  a  single  mile.  This  was  broken  by  a  light 
westerly  breeze  and  before  it,  wing-and-wing,  we  went 
groping  in  through  the  fog,  watching  for  a  land-fall 
that  would  give  us  our  position.  This  appeared  at  noon, 
when  the  familiar  cliffs  of  Point  Vicente  began  show- 
ing in  dark  brown  patches  through  the  thinning  mist  off 
the  port  bow,  distant  about  five  miles.  Three  hours  la- 
ter the  Commodore  was  able  to  close  the  log  of  Lurline 
with  the  following  entry : 


380     IN  THE  TRACKS  OF  THE  TRADES 

September  llth,  three  P.  M. — "Anchored  near  our  old 
mooring  in  San  Pedro  outer  harbour,  having  been  away 
seven  months  and  seven  days,  travelling  13,500  miles 
without  accident  or  serious  trouble" 


THE   END 


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FEB  2  2  1980 

JUN  23  1 

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(P2003slO)  9412A-A-32 


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